Guardians of the Galaxy: Rise of the Spartoi - Prelude to Vol 2
by TheGeorgieB
Summary: As the galaxy recovers from the Battle of Xandar, a new enemy emerges. Refusing to submit to the Nova Corps, the Spartoi Empire threaten to start a war that could tear the galaxy apart. However, when the Guardians enter the fray, one of the members discovers they may have a personal connection to the Emperor, and they begin to fear that they may be fighting for the wrong side.
1. Chapter 1: Submit or Perish

Chapter One: Submit or Perish

Under the scorching sun of Spartax, the desperate cries of a thousand voices had engulfed the area surrounding the Royal Palace.

As she climbed the hot stone steps to the palace entrance, Captain Victoria was bombarded by pleas for help, as well as the occasional insult cutting through this orchestra of cries.

A crowd of no less than a thousand men, women and even, Victoria noticed, many children, had flooded the palace gardens like vermin, with only a small assortment of armoured soldiers - members of the Spartax Royal Guard in their golden armour and red cloaks - there to hold the line. While the occasional rioter _did_ succeed in breaking through the wall of guardsmen, their reward was a swift, sharp spear through the back.

Captain Victoria continued to climb the stone steps, her eyes fixed to her feet. Voices of men, woman and children of all ages and all species native to Spartax called for "bread" and "water", whilst other, more vicious voices flung out insults such as "bastards" and "whore"

The latter, Victoria suspected, had been directed towards her exclusively.

Captain Victoria was relieved to reach the top of the towering staircase where a member of the royal guard, this one wearing an armour of silver as opposed to the traditional gold and red, awaited her arrival. The doorman led her through a wooden arched door five times Victoria's height, down a long and enclosed hallway which eventually opened up into an enormous hall large enough for one of the Celestials to breathe in.

The sheer scale of the Royal Palace's great hall never failed to overwhelm her. The room stretched up almost as high as the sky itself, with a number of different levels built into the halls' red and gold walls; the higher levels reaching so far up they were but a blur to Victoria's humanoid eyes.

At the centre of the hall stood the Tube, the Royal Palace's transportation system composed of a glass, circular elevator which moved through a clear tunnel that stretched around the great hall in every direction. The Tube offers quick passage to each and every level of the palace, even the control room of the Emperor himself.

Scholars, Priests and the occasional royal guardsman passed them as the doorman escorted Victoria to the Tube. Once inside, he asked her the same question he always asked: "Which level, Captain?"

The answer was always the same. "Take me to the Emperor's quarters," she instructed in a stern tone, "I must speak with my father."

The doorman thumbed the highest button on the panel, and the elevator's glass doors slid closed.

Even over the humming of the Tube as it lifted them beyond the highest levels of the palace, Captain Victoria could still hear the men, women and children rioting outside the thick stone walls, with each hurtle of the word "whore" causing her to grimace.

Whether those voices had been coming from outside those palace walls or within the walls of her own mind, even the good Captain herself could not have been sure.

* * *

"Level 616: Emperor's Quarter's," the doorman called out moments after the Tube came to a smooth halt.

Captain Victoria stepped out of the glass elevator and into her father's quarters. As she had suspected, the Emperor was nowhere to be found.

She heard the fading hum of the Tube as it returned to the ground floor, leaving her to search for her father alone.

The room's harsh lighting offered her a good look at his desk, which was littered with scrolls and parchments yet to be opened. The room's red walls were decorated with a number of finely crafted tapestries, each one depicting a different battle fought on the soil of Spartax between the Emperor of that time, and an army with the gall to attempt an invasion.

In the furthest corner of the room stood a wooden bookcase that was rich with annals, accounts, journals and testimonies that told the stories of various battles, wars, and other crucial events in the Empire's long history. Next to the bookcase sat a bronze bust of the Emperor's head on a marble pedestal, its eyes seemingly gazing at Victoria.

She approached the pedestal and leaned down to meet the bronze head's gaze. "Captain Victoria of the Spartax Royal Guard to see Emperor J-Son, I have updates regarding-"

The bookcase to her left began to slide aside, revealing a hallway that led into jet-black darkness.

Immersing herself into the darkness, Captain Victoria made her way down the narrow hallway until she came to the Emperor's Command Room, a glass, domed room protruding from the side of the palace like a Shark's fin.

The glass room offered an expanded view of Spartax; a view from the clouds. Victoria imagined it to be enough to make her father feel God-like, as if he needed the ego-boost.

She could see through the clear glass that night had descended upon Spartax during the course of her journey from the ground floor to the Emperor's Quarters. The shimmering stars being the only source of light for the command room other than the blue glow of the Emperor's circle of displays, located at the centre of the command room.

All of these displays, Victoria noticed, were solely dedicated to showing satellite footage pulled from the recent Battle of Xandar, in which Ronan the Accuser had fallen, and the Nova Corps had gained a glorious victory.

In the centre of the circle of displays, in a pitch black armchair crafted out of the finest leather, sat Emperor J-Son of Spartax.

He sat motionlessly in the shadows, his gaze fixated on the display directly in front of him. From the display, violent flurries of blue, yellow and purple shone from the display and reflected in the Emperor's stone cold eyes.

It was only when she was within a couple of feet of the Emperor's armchair that Captain Victoria noticed that the footage was playing on a loop. Over and over, it replayed the moment of Ronan's demise in the climax of the Battle of Xandar, when he fell at the hands of a team of unknowns the Xandarians had begun to call the 'Guardians of the Galaxy'.

By joining hands and sharing the power of what the Emperor's scholars had confirmed to be an Infinity Stone between them, these so-called 'Guardians' had somehow been able to harness the power of the stone and use it to destroy Ronan.

It was an extraordinary event that even Emperor J-Son couldn't seem to comprehend as he watched the satellite footage on repeat, paying particular attention to the Terran amongst the team.

"Emperor," she said, risking disobeying the rule of only speaking to the Emperor when spoken to; a rule even Captain Victoria, his own daughter, had to obey. She only hoped her father would overlook this violation when he knew the significance of what she had to say. "I have collected reports from our scribes and scholars and compiled them into a single condensed report for you to examine."

She was about to receive the scroll from the inside of her white tunic when she noticed that the Emperor was yet to draw his eyesight from the display. In fact, the focused man was yet to even acknowledge her presence. "In summary," she decided to continue, "our food supply has dropped by another %7 in the last week, causing us to having to begin digging even deeper into our emergency supplies." The words alone tasted bitter as they left her tongue. Victoria dreaded to think how they would sound to her father. "The number of rioters has increased by %19 in the last month, with crowds growing larger both outside the palace and across the city. It appears to be the people's way of retaliating after the priests of the Universal Church of Truth encouraged them to begin rationing." She paused. "They don't have any food _to_ ration, you see."

The Emperor's gaze remained fixed on the display. The man never even seemed to blink.

"I know where the stone is," Victoria burst out suddenly in a desperate bid to acquire her father's attention. "It was hidden after the battle… beneath the Nova Headquarters. With enough men, maybe we could-"

"I have no interesting in wasting my time chasing magic gems," the Emperor growled, cutting through Victoria's words. "And even if I did," he added, "there's no way of getting an army through that blockade." Finally, his armchair made a 180 degree turn and, at last, the Emperor was facing the good Captain.

The Emperor came into the pale blue light from out of the shadows, revealing a slightly wrinkled but stern face, clean cut brown hair with grey streaks and a well kempt beard. He returned Victoria's gaze without flinching, then decided to fill the silence with speech. "What we need, should we ever wish to be rid of that damned blockade, is firepower."

Captain Victoria lifted her gaze above her; through the domed glass ceiling. Looking past the passing traffic of landing craft, cargo ships and royal guard ships that soared over the palace, Victoria spotted the Nova Corps fleet, consisting of nine warships, each one the size of a small moon, in a semi-circle formation just outside the planet's atmosphere; too far away to communicate with, but not so far away to rule out the possibility of them wiping the Royal Palace, and the entire capital city, from their existence in the furthest corner of the galaxy.

"It's been six weeks since those blue and yellow bastards appeared in our skies," the Emperor reminded her in a calm and collected manner. "That's six weeks we've been without a supply run of food, water, and whatever else the people of this great city are crying out for, all because those monsters that call themselves 'Centurions' refuse to let traders, suppliers, and anyone else that isn't Nova Corps through that blockade of theirs."

His words, bitter as they were, reminded Victoria of an incident that had occurred three days prior. "They beamed another one of their liaisons down to the surface this week to deliver the Nova Prime's terms," she explained.

"If I know Nova Prime Rael, I assume her terms were something along the lines of… 'submit or perish'?" the Emperor wondered aloud. Victoria was sure she detected a hint of sarcasm in his gravelly voice.

"Perhaps not quite so bluntly," she replied as her mind returned to her meeting with the liaison. "The Nova Prime is requesting permission to place no less than 500 corpsmen on Spartax, to keep the peace as well as our contribution of 10% of our food supply to their famine relief supply which, the liaison explained, will go towards aiding cultures affected by the recent Nova/Kree war." Victoria had tried to explain that the summer droughts, which occurred every five years when Spartax was unbearably close to its local binary suns, had caused the quantity of their produce to plummet, but the liaison only responded by repeating the Nova Prime's terms in a tone that suggested impatience.

Captain Victoria swallowed hard, aware that this last part would frustrate the Emperor the most. "And, although you'll remain Emperor of Spartax, they wish to place an experienced Nova centurion at the head of the Spartax Royal Council."

J-Son scoffed. "I'll be Emperor in name only," he ascertained. "They practically want me to hand over the Spartoi Empire to them, so that they can burn it to the ground like they have done with so many great cultures." His chair began another 180 degree turn as the Emperor returned to the comfort of the shadows. "Spartax will never submit."

"Then what _will_ we do?" Victoria asked, somewhat out of turn.

"What we do best," The Emperor replied as he peered over his shoulder, his sharp eyebrows furrowed. "We will fight."

A fresh display popped up in front of the Emperor, this one displaying footage from within Ronan the Accuser's ship, the Dark Aster, moments before it was downed by the Nova Corps.

Stepping closer, Victoria once again spotted these 'Guardians of the Galaxy' who, at this time, were about to take on Ronan himself. Amongst them, Victoria noticed the Terran again, who appeared to be just slightly below her own age, and seemed to be the leader of the team. He was wielding a large mechanical weapon that Victoria couldn't say she recognised.

In a sudden flurry of fire and smoke, the weapon fired, and an explosion followed that sent Ronan to his knees.

After seeing this incredible weapon in action, Captain Victoria now understood what her father had previously meant by "firepower", and why he had confined himself to his control room for the past few weeks, never taking his eyes of his displays.

Any weapon powerful enough to so much as stun a celestial as powerful as Ronan the Accuser, was surely worth a look.

"It's called a Hadron Enforcer," she heard her father explain to her, clearly noticing her curiosity. "I had my scholars examine it for days." He raised a crooked finger to the weapon on display. "According to them, this weapon was custom built, and by quite the demolitions expert too, it would appear. Unfortunately, they were unable to identify the element acting as the weapon's core from this footage" He paused, hoping Victoria was keeping up. "The weapon is capable of manipulating hadron particles, transforming them into what are essentially bullets that explode on impact," he continued as the display in front of him once again demonstrated the weapon's brutal force. "The scholars believe that, if someone were to be able to get hold of the weapon and – more importantly – its core, this weapon's capabilities could be replicated, as well as _increased_ to a much _larger_ scale."

Well aware of what the Emperor was insinuating, Victoria's gaze was attracted to the Nova blockade hovering in the sky miles above her. "Is it _really_ powerful enough to-"

"Not _yet_ ," he interrupted, "but with the core in our possession, the scholars claim that our engineers would be capable of building a Hadron Enforcer of our _own_ design; one powerful enough to annihilate the Nova Corps blockade, and perhaps even Xandar itself."

"Allow _me_ to retrieve the weapon, father," Victoria offered graciously. "It would please me to please the Empire."

"No," the Empire denied swiftly. "You'd never make it past the blockade."

She took a moment to think. All the while, she could feel her father's patience wearing thin. When an idea finally struck her, she took no time to think it over. Her words left her before she could fully collect her thoughts. "There's a smuggler," she burst out suddenly. "An Insectoid from Kaliklak, a tropical planet in the Outer Rim. He's proven himself in the past, completing a number of illegal trades across the galaxy whilst avoid the all-seeing eye of the Nova Corps. I believe he'd be capable of retrieving the weapon for us and smuggling it through the blockade." A smile grew across her face. "The Nova Prime will never know what hit her."

"This smuggler," her father began, "are you sure he can be trusted?"

"He _was_ once a member of the cosmic pirates known as the 'Ravagers', acting under the leadership of the Centaurian named Yondu Udonta," she admitted, "but those days are years behind him."

"Dispatch him at once," the Emperor ordered in a commanding voice. "And have a small assortment of our royal guard sent with him."

"It will be done," she replied. She was about to turn on her heel and exit the command room when her father's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"You do recognise the Terran wielding the weapon, don't you?"

She could feel the weight of her father's gaze on her as he peered over his shoulder. Looking past him, she examined the human in the blood-red jacket wielding the Hadron Enforcer. He wore a peculiar mask of a sleek design over his face, with eyes that pulsed red, which she assumed allowed the Terran to breathe on foreign planets.

A single conclusion filled her mind, and it was one that made her stomach tighten. "It's him, isn't it?"

What appeared to be the faintest of smiles began to form across Emperor J-Son's face. With a flick of his left index finger, he made a holographic list of data appear beside the display, which now focused solely on the Terran, who appeared now in a mug-shot captured by the Nova Corps, in which the Terran was performing a crude hand gesture that made Victoria grimace.

"Peter Jason Quill, of Earth," her father announced. "35 years old. Half Terran, half Spartoi."

Captain Victoria crossed her arms in an attempt to mask her anxiety. "Do you think he is aware of his royal ancestry?"

"Being able to harness the power of an Infinity Stone as he did would case any seemingly ordinary man to suspect himself of being something greater," the Emperor suspected.

Victoria was caught off-guard when the Emperor sat up from his chair and left his circle of displays.

"Second chances don't come around that often, Victoria," he told his daughter as he faced her, his blue eyes glinting in the starlight. "Have your smuggler bring him here, with the weapon. _Alive_."

This surprised Victoria more than anything. "You want the Terran brought here? To Spartax?" She pointed at one of the displays behind him, which now presented footage of the Terran named Peter Quill performing what appeared to be some sort of spontaneous dance routine directly in front of Ronan. "You truly wish to bring this _imbecile_ to our planet?"

J-Son turned to the display, then back to his daughter, his empty expression showing no sign of shame or embarrassment for the dancing ape on the display. "That 'imbecile' is my only living heir."

A lump grew in Victoria's throat. "What about me?" she asked in an almost child-like tone.

Her father sighed. It was not the first time he'd shown disappointment in his daughter. "In the Millennia that this great Empire has existed, not once has it been ruled by an Empress. Had you been born a boy, as the eldest sibling, your claim to the title of 'Emperor' would be the strongest. Alas, such is not the case," he concluded, feigning regret. "As long as this Terran lives with my blood in his veins, he will remain my heir."

And with that bold statement, an idea was planted in Victoria's mind. It was one so perfect, and so resolving, she could barely contain hr smirk.

"Make contact with the smuggler immediately," the Emperor ordered as he returned to his armchair and his circle of displays. "Ensure that he retrieves the weapon, _and_ my son."

"As you wish," Victoria replied before turning swiftly on her heel and walking briskly out of the command room.

Emperor J-Son neutralized his displays with another flick of his index finger.

The room descended into a darkness disturbed only by the starlight from above.

* * *

Through the glass walls, Victoria watched as the planet's local moon, Fargonia, shone brighter than ever before beyond the horizon of towers so tall their tops tickled the clouds. Even now, she could still hear the cries of those men, women and children rioting in the streets.

The words of her father echoed in her head. "As long as this Terran lives with my blood in his veins, he will remain my heir," he had said. "As long as this Terran lives…"

Despite her father's wishes, Captain Victoria had no intention of bringing the Terran back to Spartax alive.

Her hand stroking the glass, Victoria began to whisper to the rioters outside. "Hush now, children," she said in a soothing voice, like a mother comforting her babe, "all will be well in time." She paused. "Soon you will have a new ruler. An Empress," she whispered.

"And thanks to her, Spartax will finally know peace."

END OF CHAPTER ONE.


	2. Chapter 2: Boot of Jemiah

Chapter Two: Boot of Jemiah

On the other side of the galaxy, Peter Quill was surveying the chaotic scene around him.

He was stood in the heart of the Boot of Jemiah, a shady bar on Knowhere frequented by even shadier characters.

In a dimly lit booth immediately to his right, Peter spotted two Kree refugees sharing a quiet drink, careful not to draw too much attention to themselves, rarely even looking up from their glasses.

At the bar, a Centaurian whispered something in the ear of the attractive Krylorian female beside him. Whatever he'd said, it must have been something funny, because the Krylorian, who also looked half the Centaurian's age, erupted into a fit of cackling laughter. Peter wondered if he'd made a comment about the bartender. He was a short, chubby gentleman with green skin and a face so swollen his purple eyes were scarcely visible. When Peter saw his blood-stained apron, he assumed the bartender had been in some kind of a fight; a fight he'd seemingly lost, resulting in his face being battered so harshly he now resembled 'Sloth' from 'The Goonies'.

A fight was just the thing Peter wanted to avoid here in the Boot of Jemiah. However, as he looked around, studying each and every one of the bar's rowdy, rude and violent characters, he feared he may not be given much of a choice.

"The Boot of Jemiah," Peter said with a grin, as though he felt at ease amongst the scoundrels and scum that inhabited the bar. "You'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy."

"You must feel right at home," a voice beside him snickered.

Peter turned to face Gamora, who stood at his side. She wore a look that was a blend of discomfort, hate and, more than anything, disgust, as though she compared the bar's inhabitants to the kind of vermin that resides beneath a mouldy wooden floor.

"Actually, it's a line from Star Wars," Peter explained as they headed towards the bar, where the Krylorian was still laughing.

Gamora seemed confused. "Which star war? The Praxidike civil war? The conquest of Nebula II? The third invasion of-"

"Star Wars isn't _actually_ a war, it's a movie," Peter interrupted, another reference having gone over Gamora's head. "You've _really_ never seen Star Wars!?"

"Perhaps we should focus on the task at hand," Gamora suggested in a stern tone as she searched the bar area. "Where's Drax?"

"He should be here. He said he was coming here early to make sure the coast was clear," Peter told her, disappointment visible on his face. "I can't believe my co-pilot's never seen The Empire Strikes Back."

"Well, he's not here _now_ ," Gamora concluded as her eyes drifted over the crowd. "No sign of your contact either."

"That's Bug for you," Peter replied. "I don't think the guy's ever been on time for a job in his life."

"I don't know," she replied. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Suddenly, Peter burst into a fit of excitement. "You just quoted Star Wars! You… You said…" His voice trailed off when he noticed Gamora's blank expression. "Forget it," he said.

"Honestly," Gamora began, "I can't say I'm entirely comfortable with handing over a weapon as powerful as the Hadron Enforcer to someone I've never met before."

"We're not 'handing over' anything," Peter debated. "We're selling it… for one billion units, in case you forgot." They reached the bar, and Peter signalled the battered-faced bartender. "Besides, we can trust Bug, and I'm sure we can trust his client with the weapon."

"How?" she asked, her expression full of doubt. "How can you be so sure that we can trust an Insectoid with a reputation for nothing but stealing and killing?"

"Because," Peter reassured her, "when Yondu and the Ravagers picked me up on Earth, Bug was the first one to argue against eating me alive." He paused, surprised by how much the nostalgia had overwhelmed him when he thought about his old life as a Ravager. "He saved my ass."

"What'll it be, pal?" the bartender asked in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

"Two Timothies," he told the bartender, who disappeared behind the bar only to return moments later with a green bottle and two small glasses. "You stay here," he instructed Gamora in a quieter voice as the bartender poured their drinks. "Make sure that when Bug finally shows up, he shows up alone." He swiped up his drink and began to head towards an empty booth across the bar, clutching the knapsack resting over his shoulder as he did so.

"You think he'll bring back up?" Gamora called out to Peter. "I thought you two trusted each other?"

"I said _I_ trusted _him_ ," Peter taunted, still walking. "I didn't say anything about _him_ trusting _me_."

Gamora's face was stone cold. It appeared that Peter's attempt at a joke had fallen dreadfully flat.

The Krylorian girl, on the other hand, was yet to _stop_ laughing.

* * *

Tucked away in a booth at the furthest end of the Boot of Jemiah, Peter Quill sat, sipping on his beverage – a glowing Kree brandy commonly referred to as a 'Timothy' -, with his headphones over his ears. He hummed along merrily to the Glenn Campbell record, 'Wichita Lineman', which played on his Walkman as the chaos around him continued: the Krylorian was still laughing, the Kree refugees were still whispering and, at the end of the bar, Gamora stood tall, her drink untouched, and her eyes fixed on the entrance.

Their contact must have taken the back door, because no more than a second later, a shadow fell across the table.

"Howdy, Peter," a voice, slightly muffled by the voice of Glenn Campbell, crackled from beside him. Peter pulled off his headphones and looked up from his drink to discover a hunched and wiry Insectoid looming over him, the pointy fingers of his left hand wrapped around the blaster on his belt, and a glint of red showing between the lids of his two giant eyes protruding from his lime-green face. "Long time no sssee," he hissed as he slid into the seat opposite Peter.

"Bug," Peter said with a wide and welcoming smile, masking his anxiety. The Insectoid had caught him off guard. "Good to see you." With both hands under the table, Peter began to draw one of his Quad blasters from underneath his jacket. However, his movement was far from subtle, and the Insectoid spotted him almost instantly.

Big blinked sideways. "If it's so good to see me," he began, the foot-long antennae protruding from his bald head now pointing straight upwards in a state of alarm, "maybe you can start by –tic- putting your blaster on the table."

Peter gave a concerned look, then tried to laugh away the tension as he placed the Quad blaster on the table. He waved his hand at the blaster on Bug's belt. "Alright, Angel Eyes, now it's your turn," he said before taking another sip of his Timothy.

"Oooh no," Bug replied, his grip on his blaster tightening. "I don't –tic- think so."

This took Peter by surprise. "C'mon, man," he said, sounding genuinely hurt. "I thought we were friends."

"We _were_ ," Bug chittered. "Me, you, Yondu, Kraglin – we were _all_ friends. But now, you've gone respectable."

"What the hell does _that_ mean?"

"You… and that little gang of yours," Bug snapped, obviously referring to Gamora and the others. "You're in –tic- cahoots with the Nova Corps."

Bug had been referring, of course, to the Battle of Xandar, when Peter, Gamora, Drax and Rocket and Groot had assisted the Nova Corps in defending their home-world from Ronan and his Sakaaran warriors. It was a battle that that hadn't been won without casualties.

"That's not true, man," Peter assured him, his palms laid flat on the table. "It was one time. Besides, _someone_ has to stop Ronan from destroying the galaxy."

Bug smirked, laid back in his seat. "So that's what you are now?" he asked. "Some kind of guardian angel?"

"I don't see anyone else stepping up to the challenge," Peer answered. There was a pause; a lull in the action. "So," he began, "are we good?"

Bug stared Peter down with his giant, pulsing eyes. Suddenly, the Insectoid burst into what Peter assumed was meant to be laughter, but sounded more like crackling paper. "Sure, Peter," he said between laughter and facial tics, "were –tic- good." He holstered his blaster subsequently.

Peter let out a sigh of relief. "You want a drink?" he asked Bug.

"No thanks," the Insectoid insisted. "I prefer to keep a clear head when I do business."

That was Peter's first clue.

It was largely out of character for a smuggler like Bug to turn down a free drink, especially a free one, even during business hours. Unless, of course, said character was expecting some action.

"You may not want to go into it –tic-, but I have to ask…" Bug began, on the edge of his seat. "What exactly happened between you and Yondu?"

Bug was right. He _didn't_ want to talk about it, but, in a crafty negotiation tactic, he knew that offering up information about himself would help to break the ice, and allow this deal to go a long a lot more smoothly. "We had a disagreement," was all Peter said.

"A disagreement?" Bug snorted. "Over what?"

"Over whether or not I ripped him off."

"And _did_ you?"

Peter leaned in closer to the Insectoid. "The code of the Ravagers is: 'steal from everybody'," he reminded Bug.

This earned a snort of derision from Bug. "So it is," he replied. "And that's exactly why I left like I did. You guys have no integrity."

"And smugglers do?" Peter asked in a mocking tone.

"Well," Bug chittered, "I guess that would depend on the smuggler." He winked sideways.

That off-kilter remark was Peter's second clue. He gave the Insectoid a look of uncertainty.

Seemingly noticing Peter's suspicion, Bug quickly changed the subject. "You hear about this nonsense on Spartax?" he asked somewhat spontaneously.

"Spartax? Peter was perplexed. In his twenty-six years off of Earth, he couldn't remember ever coming across the name.

"It's a star system at the edge of the outer rim," Bug explained. "The Spartoi Empire; a dictatorship, led by a guy named Empire J-Son. The whole population are a bunch of religious nuts, treat this guy J-Son like royalty." He squinted his bug-eyes at Peter. "I'm surprised you've never heard of them."

"I don't get a lot of time for sightseeing," Peter admitted.

"Too busy guarding the galaxy, right?" Bug snickered. "Anyway," he continued, returning to a more serious tone, "After your little stunt on Xandar helped the Nova Corps win their victory against Ronan, the Nova Prime must have started to get a little overconfident. She started dispatching centurions to every corner of the galaxy to enforce the Nova Corps' law, including the outer rim; probably in the hopes of avoiding yet another war. Should any planet resist their law, these centurions were followed by about a half dozen warships."

"I'm guessing Spartax was one of these planets," said Peter.

Bug nodded. "All attempts at communication with Spartax were met with silence. All attempts to land on the planet's surface were met with warning shots fired at their ships. The Spartoi Empire resisted every attempt at contact made by the Nova Corps. It was only recently that one of the Corps' liaisons was able to beam down to the surface and deliver the Nova Prime's terms, but all these people want is to be left in peace."

"So, what happened?" Peter asked out of human curiosity.

"What happened was those boys in blue and yellow decided to set up a blockade of warships around the planet, restricting ships carrying food, water and other resources from entering, and keeping any of the planet's people from leaving, which, with Spartax currently suffering a year-long drought, is essentially a death sentence for the whole planet." Bug gazed at Peter with ruthless intensity.

"So, they're gonna starve these people out?"

"Precisely."

Peter wore a puzzled look. "Seems like a lot of trouble to go to for some planet nobody's even heard of," he said. "Why go to all that trouble?"

"I'd guess that there's something on Spartax the Nova Corps want," Bug suggested. _Badly_."

"Like what?"

"Beats me."

Peter scratched his head. Back at the bar, he saw Gamora slip into the gambler's den, a small, dank room at the back of the Boot of Jemiah. "What about Emperor…J-Son, was it?" Peter asked, turning his attention back to the Insectoid. "Why doesn't he just blast the Nova Corps out of the sky?"

"Well, that's –tic- simple," Bug replied. "They don't have the firepower. Sure, if they concentrated their fire on one of their warships they could maybe take it down. _Maybe_. But these people don't have the firepower to take down an entire armada, not to mention the reinforcements that would surely follow."

"And the Nova Corps don't want to jump the gun and invade in case whatever they're after gets damaged in the process," Peter speculated, and Bug nodded in agreement. "Sounds to me like – sooner or later – shit's gonna hit the fan," he said.

Bug's expression transformed into one of repulsion. "Ew," he replied. "That's disgusting, Quill. I don't wanna picture that!" he told Peter, waving his hands dismissively, his face curdled.

"No, dude, it's an expression, it means when-" Peter paused and put his hand to his forehead. After more than twenty-six years of trying to explain Earth dialect to the completely literal alien races that occupied the galaxy, Peter was ever so tired. He sighed, "Forget it."

After a long, silent pause, the two joined each other in a chorus of laughter and, for a moment, it was just like old times.

Eventually the laughter faded. "Of course," Bug spoke up, "All this could change if only Emperor J-Son was able to get his hands on some _serious_ firepower." He cocked an eyebrow.

Peter nodded. He was about to ask what kind of firepower Bug had been referring to when he come to a sudden and startling realisation and, with it, felt his stomach drop.

Peter turned to the knapsack he'd slung onto the seat beside him when he'd first sat down. In it, he knew, were all the components necessary to build a fully-operational Hadron Enforcer; the same one they'd used during their battle against Ronan.

 _"If only Emperor J-Son was able to get his hands on some serious firepower."_ Bug's words echoed as Peter played them over and over in his own head.

Firepower doesn't get more serious than a custom-built Hadron Enforcer.

Peter had a bad feeling about this.

"So, uhhh," Peter began, his voice trembling, "Why do you mention all this anyway?"

Bug noticed Peter's discomfort. He looked him straight in the eye and said, "No reason." He licked his lips after he did so, and that was Peter's third and final clue.

"Anyway, enough chit chat," Bug declared, cutting through Peter's thoughts. "Shall we get down to business?"

"Sure," Peter agreed, masking his nervousness with an encouraging grin. He picked up the knapsack and lifted it onto the table between them, where it landed with a loud slam. As he did so, Peter reached underneath his jacket.

Bug rifled through the bag, examining each and every component inside - as if he knew what to do with any of it; he was far from the demolitions expert Rocket was. "Is this everything?" He asked.

"That's everything," Peter assured him. "You can trust me."

Bug grabbed the knapsack and threw it on the cushioned seat beside him. "Oh, how I wish that were –tic- true," he replied with a snarl as he drew his blaster.

Peter's expression was unchanged.

"You don't seem surprised," Bug admitted as he stared at Peter down the barrel of his blaster.

"I knew you were up to something the moment you turned down a free drink, Bug."

Bug chuckled. "And I assume you've already figured out who my clients are?"

"The Spartoi Empire," Peter replied, the name making his spine tingle for reasons he couldn't explain. "Listen," he began, talking more so to the blaster rather than the Insectoid wielding it, "As grateful as I am for the offer of ne billion units, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to decline." Peter gulped as Bug's grip on his blaster tightened. "So… I guess I'll just be on my way."

Bug erupted into another fit of cackling laughter. "Oh, Peter," he said, red eyes pulsing. "You really don't have a clue, do you?" He paused. "I'm not here to buy the Hadron Enforcer from you. I'm here to _take_ it."

Peter gritted his teeth with rage. "Good luck," he growled.

Bug snorted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that for the last thirty seconds I've had a Quad Blaster aimed at your tiny Insectoid balls," Peter replied. Under the table, Peter gripped his second blaster inches from Bug's groin.

The Insectoid looked smugger than ever. "Nice try, Quill," he said before waving his hand at the Quad Blaster laid out on the table in front of them. "But I already confiscated your little toy."

A wide grin grew across Peter's face as his finger hovered over the Quad Blaster's trigger, and he got ready to spit out three words he'd been saving for just the right moment.

 _This_ was that moment.

"Two guns, bitch!"

Peter thumbed the safety and pulled the trigger. The entire table shook as, beneath it, the Quad blaster released an explosive pulse of blue energy. In front of him, Bug's exoskeleton fried as the energy emitted from the blaster's bottom barrel electrocuted the unsuspecting Insectoid, forcing from him a high-pitched wail.

Although he was tempted to bask in the ambience of the moment, and stay to watch the treacherous smuggler fry, Peter quickly snatched the knapsack from beside Bug, slipped out of the booth, and headed for the exit.

With one hand grasping his Quad Blaster, the weapon humming softly as it recharged, and the other clutching his knapsack, Peter darted across the bar, cutting across the crowded higher platform, where he hoped he'd disappear amongst the mob of Aaskavarians, Krylorians and the occasional Rainer.

Refusing to lessen his fast pace, Peter shoved a male Krylorian wearing a monocle and a loose fitting silk garment out of his way, causing him to spill his beverage over himself. The Krylorian cursed Peter, who was already halfway across the bar, his path now blocked by a party of Aaskavarians, who sat swapping war stories as they feasted on enormous platters of roasted F'saki, picking the stringy, reptile meat out of their needle-like teeth.

With the exit lying just beyond the long dinner table currently occupied by the Aaskavarians, Peter had no choice but to – with a running start – step from one of the seats, pounce onto the table – ratline the plates as he did so – and leap from the table, remaining in the air for almost a whole second, to soften his landing with a forward roll, ending up mere inches from the front entrance.

Only now the door was wide open, and in that doorway – casting wide shadows that towered over Peter – stood a small assortment of soldiers clad in golden armour, red cloaks descending from their shoulders, giving Peter a piercing stare through the slits in their golden helms.

The tallest of the soldiers held a shimmering broadsword – its length almost matching the soldier's height – with a hilt made of what could only have been pure gold. In one swift movement that could be missed with a blink of the eyes, the soldier flicked his wrist and, before he knew it, Peter could feel the ice cold steel jabbing at the soft flesh of his human neck.

As the bar's previously loud and raucous atmosphere fell from a dull roar to whispers to – ultimately – complete and utter silence, Peter could only hear the sound of small, soft footsteps on marble as Bug crept behind him.

With no other choice but to surrender, Peter – still on his knees at this point – dropped his Quad Blaster, and raised his hands. This earned a smirk from Bug, who circled round Peter and snatched the knapsack containing his prize from over his shoulder.

"Good," Bug snarled, his antennae tall and erect. "The Emperor will be glad to see that his prize is so willing to kneel before his superiors."

"You mean, you're not going to kill me?" Peter asked between catching his breath.

"Not yet, Peter," the Insectoid replied with a cheap grin. "Or should I say, 'Star-Knight'."

Peter sighed and rolled his eyes.

This couldn't have gotten _any_ worse.

END OF CHAPTER TWO.

* * *

 **Big thanks to everyone who has FOLLOWED/FAVOURITED the story already, and an either bigger thanks to those who chose to leave a REVIEW. I'll try to get the next chapter published as soon as possible, but in the meantime, here's some answers to a couple of the questions you guys asked.**

 **Q: Why didn't J-Son act upon the failed delivery of Peter by the Ravagers?**

 **A: I suppose the best way to answer this would be to say that J-Son had many other responsibilities before tracking down what could be his son, including looking after his other child: Victoria, as well as keeping the peace on a planet as chaotic as Spartax. Also, at this point it can be assumed that J-Son's wife (Victoria's Mother) was still alive, meaning that there was a possibility for her to give J-Son a son and therefore an heir. It was only after she passed that J-Son obsession with finding Peter resurfaced.**

 **Q: How did J-Son get a hold of footage from the Dark Aster?**

 **A: To be honest, this is a tough question to answer, and one I hadn't really considered. I suppose the only reasonable explanation would be that what J-Son was seeing was security footage pulled from the wreckage of the Dark Aster. That's the best I can do!**

 **Also, before it's mentioned below, anyone familiar with the** ** _Guardians of the Galaxy_** **comic series will recognise the character Bug, who was, in this series, actually a member of the team. His characterisation is going to be quite different in this fan-fiction, and I've also changed the name of his species from** **Insectivorid** **to** **Insectoid** **, mainly because it just seemed to roll of the tongue a bit better!**

 **Don't forget to FOLLOW/FAVOURITE this story if you haven't already to keep updated, and feel free to leave a REVIEW below!**


	3. Chapter 3: Bar Fight

Chapter 3: Bar Fight

The stench of vomit and alcohol lingered in the air, making it nearly impossible for Gamora to breathe in the Boot of Jemiah's seedy gambling den without her stomach churning.

The cries of a hundred men suddenly filled the room – some cries of victory, others of frustration – when a bell rang, and another round of the bar's infamous Orloni fights commenced.

Gamblers scattered units across the table as they placed their bets on their favourite to survive the barbaric game, as a single F'saki was released and – its claws spread – pounced on its first victim, the youngest amongst the pack of Orloni.

It devoured the poor rodent in a single gulp, flinging its prey into the air before opening wide and swallowing it whole. Gamora scoffed as she saw a plump Centaurian with a belly like a cauldron collect his units from an unlucky and particularly pointy-eared Rainer whom, Gamora guessed, has bet on the young Orloni for its speed and agility, overlooking its inability to defend itself.

Tired of watching these men play their pathetic little games, Gamora forced her way through the raucous and rowdy crowd, noticing the occasional gambler draw his attention from the Orloni fight to direct it towards the beautiful Zehoberei, the last of her species, passing by.

She _was_ , after all, the only woman in the room.

A bombardment of crying and yelling from the furthest corner of the gambler's den was Gamora's first clue to the whereabouts of her partner.

"You would accuse _me_ of cheating?" she heard a booming voice test. "You would suggest _I_ have any _need_ of dishonesty – of lowering myself to the level of a petty street thug such as yourself?"

The voice became louder and more aggressive as Gamora shoved past the last few gamblers – including a pair of wrinkled-skin Rainers so tall their pointy ears almost scathed the surface of the ceiling, and the same cauldron-bellied Centaurian from before, who dropped his entire winnings when Gamora shoved past him.

"If you truly wish to accuse Drax the Destroyer of these false crimes, then you are clearly no more intelligent than the rodents you wagered on!" she heard Drax yell in the face of a scrawny but sharp-toothed Aaskavarian, whom he gripped by the collars of his long, silk robe.

"Drax, _stop_!" Gamora demanded, having emerged from the crowd of gamblers to face her partner, who was grappling the Aaskavarian with such fierce strength that he had lifted him almost a whole foot from the sticky floor of the Boot of Jemiah's gambling den.

Drax, only just noticing the arrival of his teammate, turned to face Gamora, the Aaskavarian still squirming in his grasp. "This one dared to accuse me of fraudulency," he explained as, unbeknownst to him, the creature in his clutches began to stretch out with his tentacles. "Justice _will_ be served!"

"Drax, we didn't come here for justice," Gamora reminded him in a calm and collected manner. "We came here to do a job."

This caused Drax to vent his anger towards Gamora, distracting him from the Aaskavarian, whose tentacles were nearing Drax's neck. "I will not be made to look a fool of by this weak, pathetic, slimy piece of-" His bellows of rage became desperate gasps for air as the creatures tentacles wrapped themselves around Drax's neck and began to constrict, becoming ever tighter by the second.

It took a split second for Gamora to wield her retractable blade, drawing it from its sheath at her waist. She swung it over her shoulder, the blade as light as a feather thanks to the reality-altering powers of the weapon's blue core. It sliced through the creature's tentacles effortlessly, resulting in a hot, pink acid being sprayed from the amputated limbs, covering Drax.

Gamora heard the acid fizz at it burned Drax's skin. In the panic, he dropped the Aaskavarian, who crawled away hurriedly using his remaining limbs, and vanished into the crowd of gamblers, all of whom had erupted into a state of alarm at the sign of violence. They pushed, shoved and toppled over each other in their attempts to flee.

The acid had failed to burn through Drax's durable, armour-like skin, but it had rendered the Destroyer blind for several seconds.

"Did you see which way that foul creature went?" Drax asked Gamora, wiping the acid from his eyes.

"He's of no importance to us," Gamora assured him as the crowd began to disperse. "We need to find Quill. This contact of his _must_ have arrived by now."

"You should not have left your post to find me," Drax disciplined Gamora. "Quill may have needed you. _I_ , however, am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Gamora looked down at the hacked tentacle between Drax's feet, pink liquid still oozing out of the amputated limb. "This may have not been the _best_ demonstration," she replied snidely.

Something across the room grabbed Drax's attention. "Then allow me to re-demonstrate," he uttered in a tone that was grave and cold.

Gamora turned her attention to the archway leading out of the gambler's den and into the bar area. As the final remnants of the crowd dispersed and fled back to the bar, Gamora watched as three tall soldier - each one clad in armour composed of shimmering gold, with red cloaks draped from their shoulders – staring intently at her and Drax through the inch-thin slit in their helm.

Even though nothing but pairs of glowing red eyes were visible through the slits in their helms, Gamora could feel the weight of their gaze upon her.

Looking at Drax, she could tell by his grave expression that he could feel it too.

Their golden gauntlets clasping the hilts of their broadswords, Gamora knew that these men – that was, if they even _were_ men – were not here under peaceful circumstances.

The tallest of the three soldiers stepped forward. "Under the authority of Emperor J-Son of Spartax, ruler of the Spartoi Empire and the First of His Name, I, General Praxidike, must order that every citizen of Knowhere evacuate this establishment immediately," he announced so naturally it was as if he was reading from parchment. His voice was loud and stern. "Non-civilians must submit themselves for questioning in connection to the arrest of the thief, arms dealer and known Ravager Peter Quill, also called 'Star Lord'."

"Arrest!? Peter!?" Gamora repeated in panic.

"'You admit to possessing knowledge of the terran pirate Peter Quill?" the General demanded to know, his voice hearty but commanding.

"That 'pirate' is our friend," Drax growled in response. "What have you done with him!?"

Gamora clasped both hands around the hilt of her retractable blade, _Godslayer_ , lifting its cut-throat edge to display to the soldiers as a warning.

Looking beside her, Gamora noticed Drax reach for his blades, only to remember that – on _her_ orders – he had left them aboard the Milano, hoping that this would result in a lack of violence.

It was a decision she now sorely regretted.

She watched Drax give her a look of frustration before turning his attention back to the soldiers, all of whom had drawn their gigantic broadswords from their scabbards, their golden hilts glistening in the room's neon light.

"Under the authority of Emperor J-Son of Spartax," the General began, his armour clinking as he slowly approached the pair, "for the crimes of piracy, I, General Praxidike of the Spartax Royal Guard, sentence you to death."

Drax scoffed as he balled his fists. "Over my dead body," he growled.

"That appears to be the idea, Drax," Gamora replied. She sighed as her lack of options became clear to her.

The pair of them had no choice but to fight.

Gamora moved first. Darting across the floor of the gambling den in minimal paces as if she were navigating stepping stones, her blade raised over her shoulder. She swung it in a quick vertical arc, slicing through the den's muggy air, the clang of steel meeting steel that followed being enough to almost deafen her.

As her blade kissed the General's broadsword, Gamora came face to face with those glowing red eyes. They remained the only thing visible behind that golden helm, like two radiant beacons in an ocean of darkness.

She grinded her teeth as she felt the General, who outweighed her sorely, forcing her to retreat. Against her will, she began to fall back, still pushing all of the might she could muster against him.

Suddenly, this crushing weight was lifted. A loud roar warned her of Drax's approach as he charged towards General Praxidike and yelled: "Leave my friend alone!" before slamming his entire body weight against the Spartoi General, releasing Gamora from the lock their blades shared, and sending the Praxidike tumbling across the gambler's den, the entire sequence reminiscent of a bowling ball knowing down a set of pins.

Strike.

In a single, acrobatic movement, Gamora leapt to her feet, _Godslayer_ in hand. Mere feet from her stood the two remaining soldiers.

Across the den, she heard the General groan as he tried to regain his bearings. His groans were shortly followed by cries of pain as she witnessed Drax locking his hands on either side of his helm and, with all of his strength, begin to squeeze, like a child popping a spot.

The two soldiers paid this no heed, even when the sound of a small but disconcerting explosion followed, and Drax released his tight grip on General Praxidike's headless body.

There was, however, absolutely no sign of flood. Instead, the General's golden armour plummeted to the floor, where it shattered and revealed itself to be entirely empty.

Following this, a thick column of black smoke exuded out of the armour, moving in a way that was disconcertingly elegant as it slipped out of the hollow suit, sailed through the air, and slipped out of the den through the arched tunnel, never to be seen again.

"What sorcery is _this_!?" Drax wondered aloud as he turned from the General's armour to face Gamora, a look of horror across his face.

Gamora struggled to turn her gaze from the tunnel, where the column of smoke – all that was left of General Praxidike – had slipped away. However, the sound of the one of the soldier's roar as he came charging towards Gamora, his broadsword raised over his head in a position ready to strike, pulled her from her confused mind state.

In one swift movement, Gamora reached for the small knife that made up a portion of _Godslayer_ 's hilt, detached it, and, stretching her hand flat out, flung the blade straight ahead of her, as though she was attempting to skip a stone across a body of water. The blade moved with such elegance as it sliced through the air, reaching the soldier in a blink of the eye, where it disappeared through the inch-thin slit in the soldier's helm.

Gamora was wondering if the attack had had any effect whatsoever, when her answer came to her in the form of a high-pitched wail which resembled that of a banshee, as the soldier dropped to his knees, only to shatter when he hit the marble floor of the gambling den.

Once again, all that was left in his wake was a hollow suit of golden armour. This time, with the addition of Gamora's blade. In a movement quicker than the last time, a wisp of black smoke emerged from the armour and exited through the archway, diving left to the bar area, where it would surely seek light and a path back to wherever it originated from.

Drax was already on the remaining soldier. Gamora had turned from the second downed soldier to find the third and final soldier in a headlock being performed by Drax, who had his left arm wrapped around the soldier's neck, bringing a relentless force along with him as his opponent wriggled and squirmed in his grasp, but to no avail. Drax didn't so much as flinch when the soldier drew a blade from a concealed scabbard and drove it into Drax's forearm. Instead, his grasp only became tighter.

Gamora approached the soldier slowly, her grasp on _Godslayer_ tighter than ever.

"Where is the weapon!?" she demanded, Drax keeping the soldier faced towards her. If he so much as _glanced_ in the other direction, Drax's grasp became even tighter. "What have you done with Peter Quill!?"

"You're too late," the soldier – whatever he _really_ was – hissed in response. "Your friend has become a part of something much bigger than the two of you." He began to chuckle maniacally. "You have no idea who you're dealing with."

"I'm sure we'll figure it out," Drax growled, his grip tighter than ever. "Together."

This earned a hearty laugh from the soldier in his grasp. " _You_? You so called 'Guardians of the Galaxy'? How could you ever hope to challenge us…? To challenge _him_?"

"Like the big guy said," Gamora replied, smiling, "together."

She raised her sword and drove it through the slit in the soldier's helm, earning from him a piercing wail.

The soldier shrunk, his hollow armour tumbling to the floor, landing with a chorus of clangs as yet another column of black smoke materialised and slipped out of the pile of golden armour, following its predecessors down the archway and back to wherever it called home.

"I've never seen anything like this before," Drax voiced as he caught his breath, noticing for the first time the gaping wound on his forearm where the soldier had stabbed him.

"Neither have I," Gamora replied as she knelt down beside one of the piles of armour, inspecting it more closely. "This is some form of magic… _Dark_ magic. The likes of which I've known to exist outside the fantasies and tales I was told as a child."

"Do you think it's true?" Drax enquired, kneeling beside his comrade. "Do you think they _really_ took Peter?"

"If they did, then that means they took the weapon too," Gamora explained, the anxiety swelling in her chest as she realised how much danger they had just put the galaxy in by bringing the weapon here. "We _cannot_ let these men – these _creatures_ – use a weapon as powerful as the Hadron Enforcer to fulfil their own desires. They _have_ to be stopped." She paused, scavenging her blade out of the pile of golden armour. "After all, this is all _our_ fault." She sighed. It appeared they had ended _one_ intergalactic crisis only to start another. "Well, at least we know where to start." She noticed Drax sending her an uncertain look. "The General mentioned an 'Emperor J-Son', ruler of something called the 'Spartoi Empire'." She paused, rising to her feet. "It may be our only lead."

"Perhaps Rocket knows more," Drax wondered. "We should head back to the ship." He joined Gamora in rising to his feet. "There's one thing that bother me about this."

"You mean, _besides_ the fact that we almost got slaughtered in the rear of what might be the _filthiest_ bar in the galaxy?"

"Yes," Drax confirmed. " _Besides_ that." He circled the small stage where, mere minutes ago, a F'saki had chased a number of Orloni from top to bottom as gamblers threw units and shouted both praises and curses as they both won and lost money. "The General mentioned they had _arrested_ Quill, when they took no time in attempting to _kill_ us."

"So?" Gamora asked aloud, failing to understand Drax's train of thought.

" _So_ , Drax elaborated, "what makes Quill so special that this Emperor J-Son demanded he be dragged all the way back to Spartax, instead of just killing him here and now."

Gamora grasped her blade tighter than ever before.

"What the flark do they want with Quill?"

END OF CHAPTER THREE.

* * *

 **Big thanks to everyone who's left REVIEWS so far. The more reviews people leave, the sooner these chapters go up! Otherwise, Chapter Four should be going up by next Friday. Emphasis on _should_! In the meantime, here are some questions and answers. Enjoy!**

 **Q: Did Bug know that J'Son wanted Peter as well as the weapon?**

 **Captain Victoria (Emperor J-Son's daughter) hired Bug on behalf of her father to retrieve both Peter _and_ the weapon. However, Victoria may given Bug her _own_ orders too, which we'll explore more in a couple of chapters.**

 **Q: The Guardians are still there somewhere right?/Where are the Guardians?**

 **This chapter saw more of Gamora, and the reappearance of Drax. Although they're (unfortunately) too late to save Quill from being captured by Bug, there's not stopping them from performing a _Return of the Jedi_ -esque rescue mission somewhere down the line. Also, Rocket and Groot _are_ out there. We'll see them again next week.**

 **Don't forget to FOLLOW/FAVOURITE this story to receive notifications when new chapters are published. Also, all reviews (positive or negative) are really appreciated.**


	4. Chapter 4: Disassembled

Chapter 4: Disassembled

"Groot, we're gonna be rich," Rocket assured his potted friend as he lifted him from his spot on the dashboard, standing on the tips of his toes to reach, where Groot had been grooving to a track called _Dancing in the Moonlight_ playing on Quill's tape deck, echoing throughout the _Milano_.

Groot whispered a response.

"Yes," said Rocket, gently. "Yes you are."

Carrying Groot with both paws, Rocket paced down the metal steps of the flight cabin, each step clanking under the weight of his feet, Groot now roughly the size of the average garden flower.

Rocket passed through the common room which, as per usual, was littered with empty food wrappers, busted weapons and gadgets, and piles of unwashed clothes that left a wicked scent.

Behind a set of electronic pocket doors which, despite the raccoon's light frame, detected his weight and slid open automatically, Rocket found himself in the cargo hold.

The ramp having been lowered to the ground and locked in place, Rocket was given a view, albeit a restricted one, of Knowhere's docking station. He heard the loud humming of cruisers, transports and cargo ships as they arrived and departed, as well as the dull roar of civilians making their way in and out of the station, some of them being pilots, others simply tourists.

Why anyone would want to visit a slum such as Knowhere was beyond Rocket.

Above the planet, a crescent moon, Aberfall-1, shone radiantly, a beacon in the ocean of darkness that was Knowhere's night sky.

"Any second now, Quill's gonna walk up that ramp with one billion units in his purse," Rocket exclaimed, his gleeful voice bouncing off the walls of the cargo hold. "That's two hundred million _each_!" he reminded Groot, swinging him around cheerfully as the pair danced a waltz.

"When that moon gets big and bright," a smooth voice sung from the tape deck's speakers, "it's su-per-nat-ur-al delight."

"This is what we've been waiting for, Groot," Rocket explained, tapping his tiny feet to the song's rhythm. "This is our chance to start afresh; to put all this madness behind us, and finally put our feet up for, well, however many years a war-battered Raccoon and a battle-scarred tree could possibly have left in them!" He smiled a toothy grin. "I think we've earned it, pal."

He balanced Groot's pot in one paw, using his other to grab a holopad out of his pouch. It displayed a holographic image of a lush, sunny beach, a series of straw huts lining miles across. "I was thinking we could get ourselves a beach hut each here on Ligra, where summers last a few thousand years, give or take." He cackled. "With this many units, we could probably buy the whole beach!"

"I am Groot," his potted friend whispered in a hushed voice.

"Of _course_ they can come with us, if they _want_ to, that is," Rocket reassured Groot. "It sure seems like Quill's style. Gamora and Drax, on the other hand… they probably have too much _avenging_ to do to be willing to put their feet up and bathe under Ligra's five suns for the rest of their lives." He tucked his holopad away and began to stroke the fine hairs on his chin. "Heck, even _Lylla's_ welcome to join us if she wants, but after what happened last time, I can't imagine her so much as answering my calls."

"I am Groot," Groot responded with another whisper.

"You're right," Rocket agreed. "She _did_ take it the wrong way."

Rocket's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of stomping on metal as Rocket glanced up to see Gamora and Drax marching up the ramp to enter the cargo hold. The sight of them brought a wide grin to Rocket's face, his head filled with images of Ligra's sunny beach. "Hey, guys," he greeted them cheerfully. "How'd it go?" He began to notice the fretful looks on both Drax and Gamora's faces, as well as what looked like blood and burns covering Drax's torso. "What happened?" Rocket asked in an anxious tone, his smile beginning to fade. "Where's Quill?"

"He's gone," Drax replied in a morbid tone.

Rocket felt a shiver, his hairs beginning to stand. " _Gone_?" he asked. "Where?"

"He was taken," Gamora replied as she marched past Rocket, hung up her blade and began to unbutton her red flight suit. " _Kidnapped_ by the very person who was meant to make us all rich."

Rocket snarled in frustration and dragged his hands down the sides of his face, his single opportunity for a break from all this nonsense and at last a chance at some R&R having been cruelly snatched away. "Do we _at least_ know where this guy took Quill?"

Drax growled a response before Gamora could so much as open her mouth. "Back in the Boot of Jemiah, Gamora and I were confronted by a group of soldiers claiming to be members of the Spartax Royal Guard. Their leader, a general, said that they were operating under the authority of an 'Emperor J-Son'. He and his Spartoi Empire _must_ be behind all of this."

Rocket felt his heart sink at the mere mention of the name. "Did you say… _Spartoi_?"

Drax nodded, and Gamora gave the raccoon a muddled look, failing to understand his anxiety.

Rocket held the pot contain Groot close to his chest and began to march past Drax and Gamora, headed toward the bottom of the ramp, the bitter cold of the night beginning to prickle his skin as he left the warmth of the Milano. "We have to get this ship ready for take-off as fast as we can," he instructed urgently, moving with the pace of someone who clearly didn't want to remain on this planet for a second longer than was absolutely necessary. "Gamora," he barked, "You need to fly us to the other side of the galaxy; as far away from those Spartoi psychos as we can possibly get."

Rocket thumbed a red button on a panel box located on the side of the ship with his disconcertingly human-like hands, causing the tail of the Milano to lift up and slowly swing backwards, allowing room for the ramp to fit back into its place once it was moved. The tail moved with a loud hum that slightly muffled Drax's words when he yelled: "What is it about the Spartoi that we should know, Raccoon? Why is it that we should be running around with our tails tucked between our legs?"

Gamora fired Drax a look of utter confusion.

"A metaphor," Drax explained to her. "Quill taught me that one." He turned his attention back to Rocket, who was currently loosening the series of bolts keeping the ramp locked in place. "My question is: why should we be so afraid of these adversaries from Spartax?"

"Because you and Gamora are two of the _only_ people to ever come face to face with the Spartax Royal Guard, and live to tell the tale," Rocket explained. "I don't know how you managed it, but you can bet your ass that you won't be so lucky again."

Drax approached Rocket, stomping down the ramp. "So, your idea of a solution is to just _run away_? To _hide_ like a frightened little animal?"

Rocket turned his attention from the bolts on the ramp to face up to Drax, with whom he had now lost his patience. "In case you hadn't noticed, I _am_ an animal," he reminded Drax, sarcastically, "An animal who's way in over his little hairy head." He stroked his aching forehead. "Taking on Ronan and his Sakaaran warriors was _one_ thing, and even _then_ we had the might of the Nova Corps behind us, but taking on the _Spartoi_? _Alone_?" He shook his head dismissively. "That'd be suicide."

Gamora approached, shadowing Drax. "Rocket," she began, and Rocket was sure he could detect a hint of worry in her voice, her care for Peter seemingly having grown. "We can't give up on Peter."

"Quill is our friend," Drax reminded him. "He'd cross the galaxy for us. We _have_ to go after him."

"I am Groot," Groot agreed from his pot, still tucked under Rocket's arm.

Rocket sighed an exhausted sigh. "Why aren't you ever on _my_ side?" he asked Groot. He turned back to Drax and Gamora, wearing a look of sincerity. "Guys," he began, his voice having dropped to a sombre tone. "Groot and I have never had friends like you before. We've never really had _any_ friends, full stop," he admitted. "We were in a tight spot when we met you guys, and it was one of the best things that could have possibly happened to us." He held Groot tight, his friend gazing up at him with a troubled look from his pot. "I'd do _anything_ for each and every one of you. _Especially_ Quill. But, my point is, if the Spartoi really _did_ take Quill, there's no way he's not dead already."

Drax bowed his head. Beside him, Gamora knelt down to Rocket's level. "If that's the case," she began, her eyes staring deep into his, "we can still _avenge_ him."

Rocket shook his head irritably. "You two and your avenging," he uttered. "Alright, alright," he agreed begrudgingly, "let's go and walk into a death-trap. _Again_!"

"Cease your whining and let's leave this wretched hive," Drax suggested. "If we hurry, perhaps we can still catch up with whoever took Qui-"

A sudden pulse of energy whizzed past Rocket, whirring as it flew overhead at lightening speed, just scathing the hairs on his head, and burst in a hot explosion of blue when it hit Drax, forcing him off his feet and causing the green goliath to land on his back with a slam, knocking the air out of his lungs and earning a loud cry from Drax.

Rocket span round to be confronted by a blue and yellow apparition hovering about ten feet in the air, the glow of the moon behind it rendering it ghost-like. It held out its right hand, which glowed bright blue, seemingly ready to fire another bolt of devastating energy. At the head of its helm, the figure wore a three-pointed red star. Three interconnecting circles shone bright yellow on its chest, and its eyes were lost in the shadow underneath a slick helm coloured grey and gold.

Rocket could recognise that insignia anywhere.

"Oh, flark," he uttered meekly.

* * *

Gamora clutched the hilt of her blade, ready to draw it from its scabbard for what would be the second time in the last hour alone.

"Under the authority of Nova Prime Irani Rael of Xandar," the figure announced in a voice that was disconcertingly human, "I, Richard Rider, Nova Centurion 11249-44396, am placing you under arrest for the attempted unauthorised sale of illegal weaponry to known criminals." His tone was stern and commanding. "Should you choose to resist, I have full authority to use lethal force."

"Oh yeah?" Rocket shouted back, challenging the Centurion. "You and what army?"

The Centurion appeared to smirk at the comment. "Who needs an army?" He raised his palm and fired a beam of blue energy; a warning shot that fried the metal framework inches from Rocket's side, causing the Raccoon to jump back in a panic, almost dropping Groot in the process. "Flark!" he cried, backing away.

Gamora marched forward to confront the Centurion. "Stop!" she demanded. "We are friends of the Nova Corps," she tried to explain, "and we have no quarrel with you, Centurion." She reached out with her left hand in an attempt to ease the Centurion to the ground. "Just come down and allow us to explain our actions," she pleaded.

"So that you can stick me with that blade of yours?" the Centurion asked sarcastically. "I don't think so," he answered before raising his pulsing gauntlet once again, and took aim.

Gamora leapt into the air as the proceeding energy beam blasted the spot she'd previously been stood in, flipping backwards gracefully in mid-air and landing softly in the cargo hold behind her.

She noticed Rocket dashing up the ramp. "Forget this," he growled before chucking Groot to Gamora as he passed. She had to take her hand off her blade in order to catch the pot that suddenly came flying toward her. Rocket didn't spare the time to make sure she'd caught his potted friend, the fact that he hadn't heard the shattering of ceramics was clearly reassurance enough for him.

"Where are you going?" Gamora demanded to know. She shouted the question over her shoulder, refusing to take her eyes of the Nova Centurion in front of her, who was once again moving into attack position. "Stood here with my hands full, I'm what Peter would refer to as a 'Sitting Goose'!"

"Sitting _duck_ , Gamora!" she heard Rocket reply angrily between the sounds of metal clanging and sparks of electricity buzzing. "'Sitting _duck_ ' is the phrase!" The Raccoon cried out in a fit of frustration. "Where is it!?" he yelled furiously. "Where the _flark_ is it!?"

"Where's what!?" Gamora yelled back at him as she strafed left, avoiding the Centurion's next concussive blast.

"Oh," the Raccoon piped. " _There_ it is."

"What are you doing back there, Rocket? Our opponent is tearing this ship apart!"

"Well," Rocket began, mid-way through cutting tape with his mouth, which muffled his voice slightly, "at least Peter's not here to see this!"

"Stand down," the Centurion roared, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Please," he begged, taking Gamora by surprise, "or I can't be held responsible for my actions."

She detected a hint of sincerity in the Centurion's words, truly believing that the last thing he wanted was to make them hurt. "Just let us explain," she cried, shielding Groot from the chaos around her. "We are _not_ your enemy!"

"Eureka!" Rocket yelled gleefully, appearing beside Gamora once again with a small, round device, in the centre of which flashed a small green light, its electronic hum audible even now. The Raccoon glanced up at Gamora, his eyes wide and commanding. "Now," he began. "I need you to throw me."

Gamora was befuddled. "You need me to _what_?"

" _Throw_ me," he repeated, this time with more urgency. "Grab me by my collar and toss me in _that_ direction," he instructed, pointing towards the Centurion, who was taking aim once again as his gauntlet hummed and recharged. " _I'll_ take care of the rest."

"I hope you know what you're doing," she replied as she gripped the Raccoon by the collar of his flight suit and lifted him off his tiny feet, still balancing Groot in her other hand.

"Oh, I think we _both_ now, that's never the case," he jested, a grin wide across his face.

Gamora smiled meekly, braced herself, then launched the Raccoon high into the air, where he soared for a couple of seconds in the direction of the Centurion, who failed to dodge either way, allowing Rocket to dig his claws into the gaps in the Centurion's armour, located in both the neck and the armpit area. Digging his claws in earned a wail from the Centurion, who began to fly in circles in an attempt to shake the rodent off his armour. Rocket remained latched onto to Centurion for long enough to lock the electronic device onto his back before being shaken loose, and landing firmly on the hard ground beneath him.

"You pathetic little vermin," the Centurion growled in response after coming to a standstill in mid-air. "What could you have possibly hoped to achieve by doing that!?"

Rocket's snarl turned into a wide and toothy grin. He withdrew a small remote from one of his pouches, a single red button waiting to be pressed in the centre of it.

 _"_ _This_ ," he snarled before thumbing the red button.

The Centurion was consumed by a swarm of electric bolts entrapping him in his own, personal lighting storm, his wails barely audible over the sound of electricity crackling and buzzing. Smoke rose from the Centurion as his armour was slowly fried before a single pulse of energy was released, and the storm was silenced. The lights in the Centurion's casing dimmed, and the armour's humming ceased. Suddenly, he dropped out of the air and fell limply to the ground like a ragdoll, landing with a thud.

Rocket rose to his feet before dusting himself off. Gamora noticed that he was happy to see her approach with Groot, his pot still intact, tucked under her arm.

"Not bad, huh?" Rocket asked as she handed Groot to him, winking at his potted friend.

"Did you just build an Electromagnetic Pulse Mine in less than a minute?" Gamora wondered.

"Well, there wasn't enough time for anything extravagant," Rocket replied. "But it was custom-built, so I made sure it packed a little extra… oomph."

"Good work, Rocket," she commended before patting the Raccoon's head. For a few seconds, he purred, then approached the Centurion. Back in the _Milano_ 's cargo hold, Gamora noticed Drax still on his back, seemingly unconscious. She was about to sprint towards him, when a loud clang, followed by Rocket's voice, deterred her.

"That's what you get for calling me "vermin"," Rocket told the Centurion, whose helm Rocket had removed and thrown aside to reveal the soft-faced, brown-haired young man behind it. He didn't look a day over twenty-five. Rocket stared down at him with a look of pure venom. The rage still riling within him, Rocket kicked the Centurion's armour.

Gamora heard a sound not unlike the snapping of wood.

Rocket howled and hopped onto one foot, lifting his other foot into his hand and beginning to caress it gently.

"I think I just broke my toe," the little creature whimpered.

END OF CHAPTER FOUR.

* * *

 **A HUGE welcome to all new readers. Thanks for all the FOLLOWS/FAVOURITES, and I hope you're enjoying the story so far! Sorry this took a whole week to get published, but I've only just got back from a week-long film shoot, and haven't had the time to update.**

 **After the last chapter was published, a lot of people had some question about the sentience of the Spartax Royal Guard, and all I can say is that we'll find out more about them, and what exactly powers them, very soon. There will be some deviations from the comic, but this is always done with the best intentions!**

 **Don't forget to FOLLOW/FAVOURITE this story if you haven't already, and please leave your thoughts in a REVIEW below. Be sure to come back next weekend's chapter in which we catch up with Peter, who discovers that Bug may have a hidden agenda.**


	5. Chapter 5: Cargo

Chapter Five: Cargo

After plucking him from the ground, suspending him through the air, and lifting him into a dark and cold enclosure, the beams of energy surrounding him began to dissolve until Peter was dropped suddenly to the metal floor beneath his feet, his screams silencing as he landed with a thud.

He lowered his hands from in front of his face to find himself alone in the dark with a single spotlight beaming down at him - its electronic buzz, and the sound of dripping water, being the only noises to disturb the otherwise silence that existed within that dank space aboard the mysterious aircraft.

"Mom?" Peter called out into the darkness, his voice bouncing off the walls and echoing across the room.

His words were met with silence.

Peter counted sixty-one drips of energy until he heard the distant clang of sliding metal, like the bars of a jail cell, followed by a patter of footsteps which echoed from across the room.

He stepped back, the footsteps closing in. Behind him stood a solid wall.

No way out.

"Hello?" Peter sung out to the figure slowly approaching through the darkness.

A hoarse voice growled a response from out of the shadows in a dialect that was alien to Peter. Its tone seemed hostile and aggressive, but he was unable to decipher any meaning in the words. In fact, the sounds coming from the speaker's mouth didn't even sound like words at all.

Not human words, at least.

"I don't understand," Peter replied hopelessly, his voice dampened as he struggled under the weight of the night's series of terrible events. Only minutes ago, he'd watched his own Mother die. Now, he was trapped in a nightmare that he was becoming more and more certain he wasn't about to wake up from.

Suddenly, flanking him from his right, another figure emerged from out of the shadows, striking at Peter and burying a needle deep into the boy's neck.

Peter shrieked. Looking down, he noticed that the needle was protruding from a small electronical device resembling a syringe, its barrel flashing red. The man holding it was bull-necked and of a stocky build, his hair brown and unkempt and a goatee decorating his chiselled jaw. He wore a red longcoat that fell all the way down to his knees.

The man thumbed the plunger and, after of a few seconds, the device in his hand began to beep, and the barrel flashed green. He removed the syringe from Peter's neck and took a step back, allowing the boy a moment to regain his footing.

For a moment, the room span around Peter. What little vision he had of his surroundings fading to an incomprehensible blur. Following this, a shrill whistle pierced through him, and Peter suddenly felt queasy.

He began to vomit, and continued to do so for almost a whole minute.

"Let it out, boy," a husky male's voice advised from across the room, its sound very similar to that of the voice from before, only now it used words that Peter could recognise. "Your system needs –RAK- be clean for the implant –SHAR- install itself successfully." His dialect had a disconcertingly southern-eastern twang about it.

"What are you talking about?" Peter asked desperately, his hands on his knees as the barfing seemed to have finally ceased. He wiped spittle from his lips. "What did you do to me? Who _are_ you?"

The figure emerged from the shadows. His appearance was somewhat humanoid, only his skin was ocean blue, and a cybernetic strip, reminiscent of a punk's Mohawk, lined the top of his head. Like the man beside Peter, he wore a red longcoat down to his knees. At his waist, Peter noticed, he boasted a golden arrow locked to his belt, a red energy pulsing from it like a heartbeat.

"Yondu Udonta's the name," he bragged, hands by his sides, "and I'm the captain of this ship." He smiled to reveal a number of golden caps between his teeth. "Welcome aboard, boy."

At that moment, at least a dozen more figures emerged from out of the shadows, all of whom were muscle-bound, armed males sporting the same red uniforms as their captain.

One of them was a slightly plump man with long, raggedy hair down to his shoulders. He stared intently at Peter with a cybernetic eyepiece that buzzed as it moved and intensified, as though it was scanning Peter from head to toe. "So that's what terran looks like," he growled in a raspy voice.

Beside him, another man stepped forward, this one looking considerably younger than the rest. He was a tall, wiry man with a five o'clock shadow and a spiked haircut that caused his head to resemble a pineapple. "Ain't he a funny lookin' little critter?"

The man clutched the weapon at his belt. It only slightly resembled the type of guns Peter's grandfather would show him on the ranch where he grew up. This weapon was slicker, hummed with an electronic buzz, on its cylinder a strip of green LED lights flashed, and it boasted a second barrel on the bottom.

"What do you want with me?" Peter demanded, surprising even himself with his courage.

The man who had stuck him with the syringe laughed beside him. "He's a feisty one!" he bellowed.

The man with the spiked hair leaned over to Yondu. "What _are_ we gonna do with him, captain?" he asked, his eyes still fixed on Peter. "I mean, the job ain't a bad-paying one, but our boys ain't eaten in weeks." His expression transformed from one of curiosity to sick and twisted desire. "Besides, ain't none of us ever tried terran before."

The creature known as Yondu stroked his chin as he studied the young terran boy. "I suppose we could expense a few units if it means keeping our boys from goin' hungry," he decided.

"Hey, that fella offered us a helluva prize if we brought this kid to him alive," a rugged voice protested from across the room. It belonged to an inhumanly bright-eyed male with pink skin and scar-like ridges aligning his cheeks. "I ain't about to throw that many units away, even if he _was_ an asshole, like you said."

Yondu turned his attention to his objecting comrade. " _You_ ain't about to do nothin'!" he roared at the pink-skinned male. " _I'm_ the captain of this ship, that means _I_ make the decisions round here."

"But he's right," a distant, nasal voice argued from the shadows. "The boy is too –tic- valuable," the voice came closer, "We shouldn't so much as lay a finger on his precious terran head." Emerging from out of the darkness, the voice was revealed to belong to a creature with a hunched stance, his figure squat but wiry. From his shrivelled, lime-green face, two giant eyes protruded, pulsing with red intensity. At the top of his bald head, a pair of foot-long antennae stood erect. Raising his webbed hands, he pointed a sharp finger at Yondu before adding: "Or does our wise captain _really_ think that one meal is worth losing five billion units over?"

Yondu met his comrade's intense gaze. "Don't test me, Bug," he warned the insect-looking creature.

"If you were a _true_ captain, I wouldn't have to," Bug replied.

Yondu's eyes circled in their sockets as he began to reconsider his rash decision. He returned his gaze to Bug, then nodded. "The boy lives!" he declared, shouting it at the top of his voice for all the room to hear. His decision was met with an orchestra of raucous cheers as the captain and his comrades pumped their fists in the air, whilst the creature known as Bug simply nodded eloquently.

Peter noticed a yellow-skinned male, with pointed ears, who wore a displeased expression. He stood with his arms crossed, an irked look on his face. As the cheering finally faded, the male spoke up. "So the decision's made that we should all go hungry for yet _another_ day, and in response, you all cheer!?" In a brash tone, he questioned the sanity of his comrades. "We've come all this way to this putrid little solar system, and now, we're faced with the only decent meal we've come across in weeks," he pointed a skinny finger at Peter, "so screw what the captain says, let's eat!" he roared.

Yondu's expression turned stone cold. He stepped towards his complacent comrade, the thud of each boot hitting the floor echoing across the room, until he stood inches from him. Yondu towered over the smaller, yellow-skinned male. He leaned down, until he was close enough to whisper to him. "Say that last part, one more time," he dared his comrade in a tone that was deathly and full of hate.

Peter noticed the yellow-skinned male shaking ever so slightly as he stared at the floor between his feet. Finally, he plucked up the courage to gaze up at his captain, meeting his stone-cold stare. "Screw the cap-"

A sharp and sudden whistle cut off his words as, from Yondu's belt, a golden arrow soared into the air and, at the sound of another brisk and high-pitched whistle, buried itself into the yellow-skinned male's temple, gliding through his flesh with ease, and exiting through the back of his head. The arrow had returned to its place at Yondu's belt, before the yellow-skinned male had even hit the floor.

"Let that be a lesson to all of y'all," Yondu roared as he circled round the crowd gathered in the room. "Next time you feel like questioning me, or disrespecting my authority," he looked down at his dead comrade, a pool of blood now collected around the gaping hole in his head, "remember what you saw today."

"Captain just taught stuff!" the man beside Yondu shouted to the silent crowd.

"Everyone, return to your posts," he ordered as the crowd began to disperse, "except for you, Bug," he turned his attention to the insect-looking creature, "you take care of the boy."

"Yes –tic-, sir," Bug replied accordingly.

Yondu turned briskly on his heel and marched out of the room, following his men. The distant clang of sliding metal returned and echoed as Peter found himself alone with the creature known as Bug.

"Alone at lassssst," Bug hissed as he skulked towards Peter.

"Who are you people?" Peter asked, his back against the wall. "What did you do to me"? He rubbed his throbbing neck.

With delicacy, Bug touched the spot on Peter's neck where one of Yondu's men had injected him, his pointed finger clearly frightening the boy. " _That_ is a Translator Implant," Bug explained. "Kree technology. It allows for instantaneous translation of the various intergalactic dialects."

Peter offered him a blank look in response, as though the creature was _still_ talking in his native language.

Bug sighed. "To put it simply, it lets _you_ understand me, and allows _me_ to understand you," he explained condescendingly. "Is that basic enough for your primitive terran mind to comprehend?"

There was another pause. "Huh?" Peter replied.

"Never –tic- mind," Bug snapped before marching off.

"Wait," the young boy cried. "I- I don't really understand what that was back there, or who those people were, but from what I could make out, I think you might have saved me from being eaten."

The creature stopped in his tracks, and peered over his shoulder. "What of it?" he grumbled.

Peter was befuddled. "I just wanted to say… thanks."

"Don't mention it," Bug replied before continuing his march out of the room. "Now follow me, I'll get you some –tic- clothes and give you a tour of the ship." He stopped in his tracks when he realised the boy wasn't following him. "Unless you'd rather stay down here of courssse," he hissed over his shoulder.

Peter stood in silence for a short while. Turning around, he raised a hand to the solid wall that trapped him in the room, knowing that behind it was his home in Jefferson County, Missouri. But without his mother there, what kind of a home really was it?

The world as he knew it had nothing left to offer him. So, perhaps it was time to explore some new ones.

* * *

"So, why _didn't_ you and Yondu end up taking me to my father?" Peter wondered from his seat beside Bug once the Insectoid had finally finished telling the story of the night the two of them had first met.

They sat in the cockpit of the Insectoid's green M-Ship, an offering from Yondu once Bug had decided to leave the Ravagers.

"Because you ended up being too –tic- damn useful," Bug replied with a smirk, only to be met with a confused expression from Peter. "You really don't remember that incident on Annoval 14? Back before it became a prison planet?" he asked, his webbed hands were wrapped around the throttle as they left Knowhere's atmosphere. "On our way to deliver you to your –tic- father, Yondu accepted a job to recover an ancient Shi'Ar artifact known as _The M'Kraan Crystal_. We were being offered ten billion units for it," he explained, noticing Peter's eyes widen at the revelation.

" _Ten billion units_!?" Peter echoed with disbelief.

"That's –tic- right," Bug confirmed as he piloted the M-Ship through deep space. "When we got to the surface of Annoval 14, we discovered that the Crystal was located beneath the ruins of an ancient palace, which had been built out of the most durable rock in the known –tic- galaxy. No tool, blaster or explosive could break through it. Our only option was to crawl through the rocks and to the bottom of the ruins to recover the crystal."

"Let me guess," Peter cut in, "I was the only one small enough to fit, right?"

"That's –tic- right," said Bug with a nod. "We tied a rope around your waist and fed you through the rubble. Two hours later, you were back with the crystal and only a couple of Orloni bites. I'd never seen Yondu prouder than he was of you on that day," Bug reminisced with a smile.

"Wait a minute," Peter interrupted, "I don't remember getting my share of this ten billion units!"

"None of us did," Bug explained. "The Crystal you recovered turned out to be a fake. We never did find the real deal. We were too busy training our newest recruit," he smiled, turned to face Peter, "You."

Peter failed to return Bug's smile. "Well, that's real sweet and all, but what if eight year-old me actually _wanted_ to be taken to his father?" Peter asked sarcastically, angered by the fact that he'd kept this from him for the past twenty-six years. "My mother had _just_ died, Bug. I've been wondering all my life who my father was, and _now_ I found out that you were meant to take me to him all along, and that the only reason you didn't, was because you realised I might help make you a few extra units!"

"That's not –tic- true, Pete," Bug reassured him. "Yondu sand I… we saw something special in you," he explained. "And look how right we were! Twenty-six years later, you and these _Guardians of the Galaxy_ helped to save the universe, even if it _did_ mean teaming up with those fascists, the Nova Corps."

"So, who _was_ he?" Peter asked, desperate to uncover the identity of the man his own mother had, with her dying breathe, described as an "angel".

Bug paused. "I never –tic- met him myself," he admitted begrudgingly. "It was only ever Yondu who dealt with our clientele." He noticed the crushing disappointment on Peter's face. "But," he began, "two weeks ago, I was contacted by a woman named Captain Victoria of the Spartoi Royal Guard. She was looking to hire me to smuggle a number of soldiers through the Nova blockade surrounding Spartax, as well as to recover both you _and_ the Hadron Enforcer, to then smuggle –tic- back to Spartax."

"Yeah, yeah, I managed to work that part out for myself, thanks," said Peter. It was then that he noticed one of his Quad Blasters hanging loosely from Bug's belt, only inches from his own reach. With Bug's eyes focused solely on the traffic of ships and transport that shared the space around them, Peter wondered if he'd notice him swipe his blaster in time to stop him. "What does all this have to do with my father? And why does this chick from Spartax want _me_ when all she really needs is the Hadron Enforcer?" he asked Bug, hoping his questions would keep him distracted, and prevent him from noticing Peter's hand reaching for the Quad Blaster on his belt.

"Because, that _chick_ , Captain Victoria, she provided me with –tic- an alternative," Bug answered ambiguously. "Instead of bringing you back to Spartax _alive_ , as her _father_ had requested, she offered me double the amount of units to kill you, right here and now, and claim that you became violent, leaving me with no other –tic- choice."

This left Peter utterly stunned. "Why?" he asked meekly.

Bug took a second to think, then said: "Spartax law dictates that the eldest son should be the successor to his father's throne, regardless of the age of the daughter, even if she be older than the eldest son, much like, I believe, in the case of Captain Victoria. She believed herself to be the eldest child and, therefore, the heir to the –tic- throne. But now a new heir, a son, has made himself known to the Emperor, making _him_ , despite being younger than Captain Victoria herself, the heir to the Empire by Spartax law."

"What are you saying?" Peter asked, a part of him knowing all too well what the Insectoid was implying.

Bug turned from the dashboard to face Peter. "It's you, Peter," he told him humbly. "You're the heir," he explained, wide-eyed, "Why else do you think the –tic- Emperor would want so much for you to be brought back to him alive, while this Captain Victoria would want you dead?"

"The Emperor… He's my father?" Peter wondered aloud, for Bug to nod in response.

"I think you've known all along that this whole ordeal is about more than just the Hadron Enforcer," Bug suggested. "That's why you never reached for your blaster when you had the –tic- chance."

Peter felt his stomach dropped.

The Insectoid winked sideways.

Peter lunged towards Bug, clutching at his Quad Blaster, but the Insectoid kicked him swiftly in the stomach with a padded foot, knocking the air out of his lungs and sending him back into the co-pilot's chair. With his webbed hand, Bug clasped the Quad Blaster, aiming it at Peter's head, his other hand on the throttle as they continued through deep space.

"So, that's it?" Peter asked, catching his breathe. "After all this, you're just going to kill me like the Spartax bitch ordered you to?"

"Peter, you scoundrel," Bug said disappointedly before tutting. "That's your half-sister you're talking about." His grip on the Quad Blaster tighten, and Peter heard his own weapon begin to hum as its battery charged into life.

Peter raised his hands, surrendering to Bug. "If you kill me, you might get your units, but you'll forever make an enemy out of the Emperor, not to mention the whole Empire."

Bug scoffed. "I'll tell him you tried to take my weapon from me, and that I had no other choice," Bug replied. "I'm sorry, Peter," he said, sounding somewhat sincere. "Truly, I am."

"You should have just let Yondu and the rest eat me back when I was a kid," Peter replied. "It'd have saved you a lot of trouble. Besides, the Emperor will never buy your story. And even if he does, Captain Victoria won't ever pay up. She'll have her Royal Guard tear you apart instead."

Bug laughed at his attempts to sway him. "Nice try, Quill, but I doubt that very much."

"Are you sure you're willing to take that risk?" Peter asked, eyebrow cocked. "If she's anything like her _scoundrel_ half-brother, she'll screw you over the first chance she gets," he said with a devilish smile.

Bug winced, the finally lowered the Quad Blaster. "Dammit," he cursed. "You're right," he admitted. "If even _half_ the stories I've heard about Emperor J-Son are true, he'd skin me alive if he so much as _suspected_ foul play." He returned to the ship's controls. "Perhaps we should just stick to Plan A."

"Good," Peter replied as he slouched into the co-pilot's chair. "Although, the more I hear about this Emperor J-Son, the less like an 'angel' he sounds," he admitted.

Through the ship's windshield, the planet Spartax, its lush blue and green colour taking Peter's breath away, came into view. The only thing disturbing its beauty being the blockade of Nova Corps battleships assorted around it in a semi-circle.

Peter hadn't seen a planet so beautiful since he'd left Earth.

The day he'd left Earth, Peter had known that the planet had nothing left to offer him. To him, it was barely even worth calling home anymore. Now, gazing at the lush beauty of the planet Spartax, Peter wondered whether this place might truly hold the answers he'd been seeking for the last twenty-six years.

Chief among them being, of course: "Where in the galaxy can I find somewhere that sells cassette tapes?"

END OF CHAPTER FIVE.

* * *

 **Hey, all! Sorry this chapter was so late in being published. It took some time to put together but, considering how much there was going on, I thought it turned out okay! Glad to hear you guys are enjoying the story. Things will be getting interesting for Peter in the future, especially now that he knows the truth about his ancestry. When we see him next, he'll be coming face to face with his father for the first time. However, before then, we have to catch up with the rest of the Guardians, who are on a mission to rescue Peter, and will find help in a very unexpected place.**

 **Remember to FOLLOW/FAVOURITE if you haven't already, and leave your thoughts on this chapter in a REVIEW below! The next chapter will be going up ASAP, hopefully before the end of the week.**

 **-George**


	6. Chapter 6: Enemy of My Enemy

**Chapter Six: Enemy of My Enemy**

He awoke to the soothing hum of rocket engines, and the longer the humming continued, the clearer it became to Richard Rider that he was aboard an active spacecraft.

The sound of his own breathing echoed throughout his helm which, without the assistance of the Nova Force, was an unbearable weight to bear. Usually, Richard's armour made the twenty-one year-old terran feel empowered – unstoppable, even – but without it, Richard found himself suffering under its weight, scarcely able to move. The inside of his helm, usually brightened by various holographic screens and displays, was now nothing more than a dark abyss. Through the inch-wide slits intended for his eyes, he could hardly make out anything more than the blurred shape of a large, green figure, standing over him from no more than a foot away.

"I say we kill him and be done with it," the green figure suggested in a coarse voice.

From beyond his peripheral vision, which was limited by his helm, a much smaller figure marched into his sight. "We _can't_ just kill him, you moron," the creature responded in a nasal and taut voice, before gesturing towards Richard with a point of a disconcertingly human, but noticeably hairy, little finger. "He's _Nova Corps_! You remember what happened the _last_ time we decided to mess with them? We got put in jail. _That's_ a situation I'd prefer to avoid, if that's ain't too much to ask."

The creature stepped forward, allowing Richard to notice his small, beady eyes and whiskers above his lips. Grabbing the sides of his helm with his tiny hands the creature put all of his strength into attempting to lift it from his head, which only resulted in a pained, groaning noise from the creature, and not so much as a budge. The creature let go, a lungful of air leaving him when he did so. As he turned his back on Richard, the terran noticed a fluffy tail protruding from the back of his waist.

The green figure shoved the raccoon-looking creature, over whom he towered, out of his way. "Allow me, mammal," he urged before grasping the helm on Richard's head and, with a loud grunt, lifted it into the air and threw it across the ship's common area.

Richard winced and covered his eyes as he was exposed to the room's harsh lighting. The ship's common area was littered with empty food wrappers, a number weapons and gadgets – all of which appeared to be broken, and piles of dirty clothes. In front of him from his seat leaned against a worktable, Richard could see in full form the rifle-wielding, jumpsuit-wearing Raccoon, who greeted him with a snarl, stood at eye-level with Richard. Beside him stood a green giant, who towered above them all, red tattoos aligning his broad shoulders, strong hands clutching blades at his waist.

There was a long silence as Richard and the two criminals glared at each other.

Eventually, the raccoon-resembling creature broke the silence. "Why did you try to arrest us?" he asked angrily. Richard never thought he'd feel intimidated by a creature that resembled one of his own pets.

"The Nova Corps were tipped that you and your comrades were involved in the illegal sale of a weapon known as the 'Hadron Enforcer', completely outside the jurisdiction of the Nova Corps; a direct violation of the Weapon Sales Act of MMVI," he replied, as if reading it from a teleprompter.

There was another pause. "You were 'tipped'?" the Raccoon asked, leaning close to Richard.

"Anonymously, yes," he replied with a series of nods.

The two criminals glared at Richard before turning to each other. "Bug," they said simultaneously.

"What are you talking about?" Richard wondered, feeling powerless from his place on the floor.

Rocket turned his gaze from the green giant back toward Richard. "Bug," he repeated, the word meaning just as little to Richard now as it had before, "He's a smuggler. He kidnapped our friend Quill, and took the weapon with him too. We think he might have been working for the Spartoi Empire, but that's only an assumption on-"

The mere mention of the name made the hair on the back of Richard's neck rise up. "The Spartoi Empire!?" he asked, wide-eyed and shocked. "You mean to tell me that the Hadron Enforcer is now in the possession of the Empire?"

"Well," the Raccoon began, "I don't know how long it takes to get to Spartax from Knowhere. I know how long it would take a pilot as great as _me_ , but I don't-"

"You morons," Richard snapped, almost forgetting that _he_ was the one outmatched and outgunned here. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

His words seemed to anger the green giant, who proceeded to kneel down to Richard's height, where he leaned in, inches from his face now, his eyes staring into Richard's. "Perhaps you can enlighten us?" he asked, spitting each word at Richard in a frustrated and hateful tone.

"You just killed us all," Richard explained openly, his tone morbid. "We saw what the Hadron Enforcer did on Xandar; the destruction it's capable of. Once the Emperor gets his hands on it, there's nothing stopping him from destroying the entire blockade. Hundreds of innocent corpsmen will die; _millions_ if they choose to take the fight to Xandar, which they _will_ , because _you've_ just given them the means to do so.

"Which means it's up to _us_ to warn the rest of the Corps," Richard continued, noticing the green giant's expression transform from one of frustration, to understanding.

The Raccoon, however, appeared to be less than convinced. "What do you mean _'us'_?"

The green giant turned his attention to the small rodent at his side. He wore a look of disappointment as he said, "After everything we've been through with the Nova Corps, you'd simply stand back and let them be wiped off the face of the galaxy?"

"'All we've been through'? You mean like when they locked us in jail?" the Raccoon snapped in response, baring his razor-sharp teeth.

"I mean like when they shed their blood fighting alongside us against a common enemy," the green giant responded. Richard could only have guess that he'd been referring to the recent Battle of Xandar; a battle he himself had been a part of. "Now, with Quill having been kidnapped, we seem to be facing a common enemy in the Spartoi Empire; an enemy _we_ created by letting the Hadron Enforcer fall into their hands," he admitted reluctantly.

The Raccoon stood agape. "Well, _you've_ changed your tune. Only two minutes ago, you were suggesting we _kill_ this guy!"

"That was _before_ I knew he was Nova Corps," the green giant responded. "Which makes him a friend," he added, before offering Richard his hand.

Richard grabbed the green giant's hand, and was lifted effortlessly to his feet. He smiled and nodded humbly. "Thank you," he replied. "The name's Richard Rider. _Denarian_ Richard Rider, of the Nova Crops."

The Raccoon offered a snort of derision in response.

The green giant gave his comrade an unimpressed look, before returning his gaze to Richard. "Richard, my name is Drax… the Destroyer, to some." He gestured towards the Raccoon. "The varmint's name is Rocket, but you need take little notice of him."

"Hey, I'm a part of this team _too_ , you know, and I _still_ don't see why we should help this guy!"

"Because Richard, here, may be are only chance of finding Quill," Drax replied. "And because _we're_ the reason his people, perhaps even the whole galaxy, is now in danger."

Rocket scoffed. "You're a real drama Queen, you know that?"

Drax clenched his fists. "Do not ever call me a Queen, rodent," he uttered gravely.

Richard sent Drax a quizzical look. Looking down, he noticed the Raccoon named Rocket pointing at him with a hairy, sharp-clawed finger. "I _still_ say we throw him overboard," he suggested, his finger tapping Richard's armour. "He _attacked_ us, after all!"

Richard knelt down on one knee to meet Rocket's height. "Rocket," he began, "I understand why you're angry, but how about we talk this out when the whole galaxy _isn't_ in danger, huh?" There was a pause, and Rocket folded his arms grumpily. "This whole thing is much bigger than either of us, pal. So, how about we put aside our differences for now and, once this is all over, if you _still_ feel the same way, I'm all yours." Richard offered the Raccoon his hand.

Rocket looked up at Richard, his eyes narrowed. "I ain't your pal, meat sack." He turned on his heel and marched to a worktable, where he swiped up a plant pot containing a tiny, leafless branch with his small, furry hands, before marching down the corridor.

"Rocket, where are you going?" Drax shouted after him.

The Raccoon stopped in his tracks. "To the cargo hold, to sulk!" he replied.

Richard was sure he heard a whisper coming from inside the plant pot Rocket carried in his hands, but perhaps it had simply been the hissing of the doors to the cargo hold as they slid open.

A response to the whisper from Rocket, gave credence to his suspicion. "Really? I think he's kind of a jackass," he uttered before disappearing into the lower sections of the ship.

"Just ignore him," Drax advised Richard before sinking into his bunk bed with a groan. He rubbed his lower back, gritting his teeth as he did so.

"I'm sorry about those energy blasts," Richard apologised. "They still giving you grief?"

"Yes," Drax admitted, "but nothing keeps 'Drax the Destroyer' down for long," he reassured him with a grin. "I heard Rocket deactivated your armour with an EMP mine he built," Drax told him. "I could see to it that the rodent reactivates your armour for you. I imagine you'll need it during your fight against the Empire."

"Thanks, Drax," said Richard. Right now, he felt like a Knight in a suit of armour that was _far_ too big for him. "But I can't exactly see Rocket being too inclined to help me," Richard admitted.

"I'll convince him," Drax responded in a grave tone. He laid back on the bed, his eyes flickering to a close. "Now, forgive me, but I must rest," he told him. "Although I had been hoping to take some overdue holiday, the chances of that happening have become very unlikely, so I need all the sleep I can get."

"I understand," Richard replied.

"Go ahead and speak to Gamora," Drax encouraged him. 'Tell her to set a course for Xandar."

"Gamora? Who's- _Wait_. You wanna head to Xandar!?"

"We can't fight the Spartoi alone," Drax admitted. "Not even 'Drax the Destroyer' can even _those_ odds. I thought we might go and recruit some of your friends from the Nova Corps."

"Well, sure, but I can't imagine the Nova Prime will be all too happy to see you again, _especially_ when she finds out that you and your teammates were responsible for putting the Hadron Enforcer into the hands of their enemies," Richard attempted to warn him, but Drax had already fallen into a deep slumber, his snores loud enough to cancel out the hum of the rocket engines.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Rocket murmured quietly, or so he thought.

"Don't even _try_ waking him up," a voice from the cockpit advised. "He'll sleep now for twenty-four hours, and even if you _did_ somehow manage to wake him up, all you'd earn yourself is a knife to the throat."

Richard gulped and approached the cabin, where a slim, green-skinned female sat in the captain's seat, her soft hands operating the throttle with undeniable grace. "Drax likes his sleep," she explained before looking over her shoulder to face Richard.

The Zehoberei piloting the spacecraft was beautiful; her thin black hair with highlights of purple falling to her shoulders, and her smile warm, but with an undercurrent of tragedy so transparent upon it, as though smiling was something she'd only just learned to do. "Take a seat," she told him, gesturing towards the empty co-pilot seat beside her.

Richard allowed himself to slump into the leather seat, from which he was offered the sight of the vast expanse of interstellar space, at the furthest corner of which he knew was Xandar, the home of the Nova Corps.

"Drax suggested we head to Xan-"

"I know," the woman named Gamora replied. "I heard. I've set the coordinates already."

"How much did you hear, exactly?"

"All of it."

"So, do you agree?" Richard asked. "You think we should take the fight to the Empire? You… You _don't_ think I'm a jackass?"

Gamora turned from her view of space to meet Richard with her own hazel eyes. "I just want my friend back," she explained; showing off a disconcertingly human expression of sincerity on her face.

"I know what you mean," Richard replied. "I never knew my father," he let out, a confession which caught the attention of Gamora. "My Mother told me that he left before I was born. It was only after I was recruited by the Nova Corps, and I learned just how big the galaxy _really_ was, that my Mother told me that it had been _Earth_ my father had left, not just Missouri."

"So, you came out here to find him?" Gamora questioned, intrigued by the boy's story.

"At first, sure," Richard admitted, "but I never did." There was a pause as Richard's eyes scanned the reaches of space spread out across the front view of the spacecraft. "I came to realise that the duties served by the Nova Crops were far more important; that protecting the galaxy took priority."

"Do you still wonder where he is? If he's still out there?"

Richard turned to face Gamora, a lump having grown in his throat. "Every day," he admitted.

Becoming aware of the sombre tone his own words had set, Richard quickly attempted to change the subject. "But, don't worry," he said. "We're going to find your friend, Quill," he assured her. "And when we do, those assholes on Spartax are going to pay. They're going to pay big ti-"

Richard fell silent all of a sudden, causing Gamora too glare at him in alarm. "What's wrong, Richard-human?" she asked.

Over the hum of the rocket engine, Richard was sure that he could make out the words of Harry Nilsson playing softly out speakers across from Drax's bunk.

"Everybody's talkin' at me," the gentle voice sang, "Can't hear a word they're sayin'."

"This track," Richard began, "This is from '68. I remember, my Mom owned a copy. It's from the _Aerial Ballet_ album."

Gamora offered him a puzzled look. "The tapes belong to Quill," was all she offered in response.

"Your friend Quill," Richard said to Gamora, "I'm guessing he's from Earth too, right?"

Gamora nodded. "How did you know?" she asked.

"Because," Richard began, "he has a damn fine taste in music."

END OF CHAPTER SIX.

* * *

 **Great to see you guys enjoying this story, and I hope you continue to do so! I'm hoping to get another chapter uploaded this weekend, but I can't make any promises (either way, it won't be too long a wait!). The next chapter will see Peter being welcomed to Spartax, and finally come face to face with Emperor J-Son. Anyway, let me know your thoughts on this new chapter, and the story so far as a whole! Plus, feel free to speculate, opinionate, and just chat generally below! Always awesome to hear from you guys.**


	7. Chapter 7: The Welcome Wagon

**FYI: Sorry about the delay in getting it published, but here's a particularly meaty (possibly the longest one yet) chapter for you all to sink your teeth into. This one gives us the POV of a number of multiple characters, and sets events in motion that will hopefully make the rest of this story a thrilling read.**

 **Just a quick heads up for you guys, due to some changes in the direction of the story, I DID go back and make a SMALL change to a previous chapter. That chapter was Chapter 1: Submit or Perish, from which I cut a line that has Emperor J-Son and Captain Victoria discussing the Ravagers' failed efforts to deliver Peter Quill to them twenty-six years ago. Why I cut it may or may not become obvious in this new chapter, but it will hold weight in future chapters, and as much as I hate to go back and edit stuff from already published work, it's all part of my trying to create a story that flows, entertains, but also surprises all of you! So, enjoy this new chapter, and stick around for some Q &As below!**

Chapter Seven: The Welcome Wagon

Peter Quill was tapping his feet to the melody of _Mama Told Me Not to Come_ , a funk record covered by 'Three Dog Night' in 1970. Despite always having favoured the original by 'Eric Burdon & The Animals', Peter's mother had included the cover version when compiling Vol. 2 of _Awesome Mix_ , clearly having remembered how much her son had enjoyed it as a younger child.

Suddenly, Peter felt a shrivelled hand clutch his thigh, putting an end to his tapping.

"You're putting me off," said Bug in a nasally voice from the captain's chair. In response, Peter made a pouty face, like a child retaliating after being disciplined by their parent.

"You mean we're _still_ not through the blockade?" Peter asked, aghast. Bug had been navigating them through the blockade, slowly and gently, for the three hours.

"We were through the blockade over an _hour_ ago," Bug revealed, his webbed hands wrapped around the throttle, which he pushed with delicate ease.

"Then why are we still moving at a _Snail's_ pace?"

"For the last time, I don't even know what a _Snail_ is," Bug exclaimed angrily, his gentle touch on the throttle remaining unchanged. "But if you're wondering why we're still going so slowly, it's because, even now, we're _still_ within range of the Nova Corps' sensors."

"I thought you said you fitted this M-Ship with a cloaking device," said Peter.

"I _did_ ," Bug assured him, "But that'll only get us so far. All the cloaking device does is reflect light off of my ship, rendering it invisible to the Nova Corps, but we'll still appear as a blip on their scanners if we travel above a certain speed. _Then,_ before we know it, they'll blast us off the face of the galaxy."

"Must beat listening to you talk," Peter answered dryly, resting his head back against his chair.

Bug scoffed. "You always did have a way with words, Quill," he replied.

"You know what I don't get?" Peter asked rhetorically. "Why these Nova Corps shell-heads don't just swoop down and _invade_ Spartax, instead of waiting up here for the Emperor to roll out a red carpet for them. I mean, they have the resources, right? So what are they waiting for?"

"It's a good question," Bug commented, "And not one I hadn't considered myself," he continued to admit. "My guess is that those friends of yours in the blue and yellow are after something _on_ Spartax, something they don't want to risk damaging with an invasion. Whatever it is, they must want it _bad_ , but if they think that Emperor J-Son is just going to hand it over to them, they're _sadly_ mistaken."

"What _is_ it?" Peter asked. "This thing that the Nova Corps are after?"

"Beats me," Bug admitted. "But whatever it is, they're willing to risk a whole blockade of Xandar warships - each one filled with no less than one thousand corpsmen – being obliterated for a chance at getting it, and that's exactly what's going to happen once the Spartoi get their hands on that Hadron Enforcer of yours; they'll blow tear those shell-heads apart."

"That's not going to happen," Peter assured his kidnapper, his expression stern and strong.

Bug snorted. "Who's going to stop them, cowboy? _You_?" he asked sarcastically. "Yeah, right! Even you're not _that_ stupid."

"Maybe not," Peter responded. "But I have a whole group of friends who _are_."

* * *

It was a particularly cloudy summer's day in Eson City, and as Bug drifted the M-Ship further through the haze, the stunning landscape of the planet's capital began to fade out of obscurity.

Eson City was a pool of high-rise towers and buildings, whose spires stretched so high that they scraped the surface of the clouds hovering above. Hundreds of transports, cargo ships and other aircraft darted through the air.

At the centre of these structures stood the Royal Palace, a deep moat separating it from the rest of the city, across which stretched several bridges, allowing access from the city to the doors of the Palace. However, squinting his eyes sideways, Bug noticed hordes of citizens flooding the bridges, as well as the area surrounding the Palace, their cries and pleas audible even over the hum of his M-Ship. The moat, he noticed, had also dried up completely.

"That's one helluva welcoming party," Peter japed from the co-pilot's seat. Bug could not have specified when the human had awoken.

"This isn't about you, you ignorant twit," Bug snapped in response. "The citizens of Eson have been rioting in the streets for the past two months, ever since that blockade first showed up. The number of rioters only increased when food and water rations began to plummet, thanks to the Nova Corps blocking _all_ aircraft, _including_ cargo ships carrying those kinds of resources." Bug paused and wiped a layer of sweat from his brow. "Plus, in _this_ heat, there's no way of growing crops of any kind, not to mention the drought this planet's been suffering.

"Unless the Spartoi deal with that blockade soon, their Empire's doomed," Bug commented before turning to Peter.

"So, what, they're going to use this Hadron Enforcer to blow them out of their skies, and start a _war_ instead?" Peter asked sarcastically. "That's _not_ a solution, Bug."

"It is if they win," Bug observed, pulling the throttle back gently and lowering the M-Ship with ease.

The ship descended, lowering itself into small docking bay located in the Palace Gardens - a lush, green environment which was guarded from the rioters by a sixty foot stone wall.

Landing softly, the hum of the engines fell silent.

Bug, unbuckling his seatbelt, placed a shrivelled hand on Peter's shoulder.

"Welcome home, Pete," the Insectoid remarked.

* * *

Captain Victoria red cape fluttered in the breeze - a breeze that, although strong, was cooling on this otherwise _scorching_ summer's day.

At the sound of the hiss of hydraulics, Victoria turned her gaze to the smuggler's spacecraft, its ramp beginning to lower. Noticing the two guardsmen at her side tighten their grip on their broadswords, still sheathed, Victoria gave them a discouraging look, and the men let go of their weapons.

The sound of footsteps on metal made Victoria turn her attention back to the aircraft. Down the ramp, she noticed the Insectoid pace, a blaster in his hand. He gave Victoria a dutiful nod, then turned around, facing his blaster at the figure that followed closely behind.

The human dawdled awkwardly down the ramp, hands in his pockets. Reaching the bottom of the ramp, the human finally looked up from his feet, meeting Captain Victoria's eyes.

Victoria noticed the human's jaw drop.

The Insectoid named Bug pushed the human forward. He stumbled clumsily towards Victoria, the blaster Bug was digging in his back providing an incentive to keep on moving. When he reached Victoria, a wide smile spread across his face. He lifted his hands out of his pockets suddenly and with urgency, as if only just realising that he was in the presence of royalty.

"My name's Peter Quill," the human mumbled awkwardly, "I believe you're looking for me."

Victoria turned her attention to the Insectoid behind him, ignoring Peter altogether. "Emperor J-Son thanks you for your efforts, smuggler," she announced. "Your services are no longer required."

The Insectoid bowed humbly. "Always happy to serve the Spartoi Empire," he said respectfully and, it seemed to her, with sincerity. "Sorry about the twenty-six year wait, by the way," he remarked, which confused Victoria.

"What on Spartax are you talking about?" she asked, muddled.

Bug shook his head dismissively, deciding he'd rather not raise the matter of his previous failure to deliver Quill. "Never mind," he replied. "I'm just happy to help, is all." There was a silent pause. "Of course," he said, raising one of the pointy fingers on his webbed hand, "there's the small matter of my payment," he went on to remind her.

"You will be compensated in due course," Victoria assured him, her words riddled in ambiguity.

This caused Bug to scoff. "No offence, miss, but if your little revolution doesn't go as planned, there may not _be_ anyone left to compensate me," he remarked, forgetting his place momentarily.

Victoria glared at the Insectoid. "You _dare_ doubt the might of the Spartoi Empire?"

"No, no, no," Bug retorted, raising his webbed hands passively as he began to step back.

"You forget your place, _Bug_ ," Victoria told him gravely, the guardsmen at her side gripping their broadswords as they slowly took a couple of steps forward. "You are an ant in the company of Gods, and if you remain here, and continue to waggle your discourteous tongue, you _will_ be stepped upon."

Bug gulped. He stood frozen for a number of seconds, before masking his fear with a courteous smile. He bowed, then darted back up the ramp of his spacecraft. Moments later, the spacecraft's engines roared back into life.

With a proud smile, Victoria turned her back on the spacecraft, which was now preparing to ascend, and began to march through the Palace Gardens, her guardsmen at her side.

"Hey, uh, excuse me! _Beautiful_?" the human's voice called.

Victoria sighed before turning to face the man named Peter. "Yes?" she replied sternly.

Peter, befuddled, shrugged his shoulders. "You wanna tell me what's going on here?" he asked.

"You're following me to the Emperor's Quarters is what's going on," she answered.

"The Emperor…" he uttered, his eyes widening. "You mean, my father."

"Yes, Peter," she confirmed, "I'm taking you to your father."

* * *

The doors to the Royal Palace stood almost fifty feet tall, and once they'd slammed closed, the cries and pleas of the rioters surrounding the palace walls fell silent.

Peter found himself following the beautiful Captain, who walked at a brisk pace, down a long hallway so small that the group - which included the two guardsmen accompanying the Captain, now marching behind Peter – were forced to walk in single file.

Eventually, however, the hallway opened up into an enormous new room, which stretched so high that Peter struggled to see the ceiling. He stood in awe of the great hall, his jaw hung open as he turned his inspired gaze from one corner of the gigantic room to the other.

The room was lively with hundreds of priests, scholars and guardsmen, who hustled and bustled past Peter as they endeavoured to keep to their busy schedules, which most likely included trying to keep this doomed planet from tearing itself apart.

The Captain marched across the room, her path clear of priests, scholars and guardsmen, who all made an effort to step out of the good Captain's way. She was approaching a glass elevator, circular in shape, which seemed to stretch all the way up to the top of the palace, as well as branching off to the left and right on every storey, providing direct access to every level of the building. At the foot of the elevator, a guardsman stood in a suit of silver armour, contrasting with the red and gold colours worn by the guardsmen accompanying the Captain.

Upon reaching the elevator, the Captain turned to face Peter, a stern, authoritative expression on her face. "This is the Tube," she announced, "It'll take you to the Emperor's Quarters, where your father is waiting to meet you." She turned to one of the guardsmen, "I'll be meeting with the Matriarch should the Emperor have need of me." The guardsman nodded accordingly.

"You're not coming?" Peter asked, wide-eyed, sounding almost disappointed.

"I have more important matters to attend to than babysitting a Neanderthal like yourself," she remarked, looking down at Peter, over whom she stood taller by multiple inches.

"Now, that's not very nice," Peter replied, approaching the Captain until he stood mere inches from her; close enough to feel her breath on his face. He decided he liked how it felt. "You know, I've gone my entire life without knowing my father. This is a big moment for me; I'm worried I might get a little… emotional," he explained, his eyes staring deeply into the Captain's. "I want you to be there, it'd make me feel more… comfortable."

One of the guardsman spoke up, outraged, "How _dare_ you speak to the Captain in such a-"

The Captain raised her hand, silencing the guardsman instantly. "I can handle this," she said. Suddenly, her stern expression transformed into a sheepish grin, like that of a flirty schoolgirl. "You really think so?" she asked Peter, fluttering her eyelashes.

"I do," Peter replied, a look of desire spread across his face. He began to caress the Captain's cloak, stroking the red velvet delicately with his fingers. "You know, I never realised how much women in cloaks turned me on until I met you-"

At that moment, the Captain drove her knee in-between Peter's legs, causing a lungful of air to escape him in one loud, pained wheeze. Peter clutched at his groin desperately before falling sideways to the floor, landing with a smack, where he continued to wheeze, cough, and cry softly.

He heard the guardsmen chuckle. Opening his eyes, he saw them leaning over him, the Captain stood between them, a sadistic smile spread across her face. "Was it something I said?" he asked wheezily.

"Perhaps you should go and pay a visit to Emperor J-Son," the Captain suggested. " _Our_ father is not the most patient of men."

Peter's stomach dropped at the realisation. "Oh, you've _gotta_ be kidding me." He wanted to kick himself for his stupidity, but he was struggling just to stand. "You're… my sister?" he asked, with Captain Victoria nodding in response. "But… _how_?" Peter wondered aloud, taking into account Captain Victoria's black skin.

"Like I said, speak to my father," she replied. "He has the answers you seek." Her voice trailed off as the Captain left his upside down sight, marching down the hall to see to her own errands. "Oh, and when you see _our_ father, tell him that I _still_ say this is a _bad_ idea," she called back to him.

"You got it," Peter agreed between coughing and wheezing.

He heard a ding as the elevator reached the ground floor. The guardsmen reached out, offering to help Peter up, but they were going to have to wait another minute.

There was no longer any doubt that Captain Victoria _was_ his sister, and as Peter laid there on the ground, clutching his groin, he began to suspect that _she_ was the _older_ sibling.

* * *

The Tube's elevator came to a smooth halt, and at the sound of a ding, the glass doors slid open.

The Emperor's Quarters were a dimly lit space, a red carpet lapping round the room, and a glass window at the opposite end offering an expansive view of Eson City's skyline at dusk. Tapestries, most of which had been well preserved in their glass casing, hung from the walls, with little gaps between them. They depicted various bloody battles between what looked like Spartoi soldiers and a number of different alien species including, but not limited to, the Kree, the Shi'Ar, and the Badoon. At the back of the room stood the Emperor's desk, a slick, metallic construct, with two throne-resembling black, ceramic chairs placed at either side.

It was at his desk, in his throne, the Emperor sat.

Peter watched the man claiming to be his father. He sat, eyes bulging as he fixed his gaze on Peter, stroking his greying brown beard. He wore a red velvet garment with lapels, cuffs and a collar coloured gold. His green eyes stared deeply into Peter's, the pale blue light above him revealing a slightly withered and wrinkled face, most likely a result of years of warfare, and a chiselled jawline.

Suddenly, Peter felt a strong but cold hand clutch his shoulder, shoving him forward and out of the elevator. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the silver gauntlet-wearing guardsman thumb the elevator's control panel, causing the glass doors to slide closed. The elevator hummed back into life, and the elevator began to descend to the ground floor.

The humming began to fade, and soon the room was silent.

His father remained speechless in his chair, from which he continued to stare intently at Peter.

Peter wandered towards the Emperor's desk. Once there, he stood over the Emperor, waiting for the man, who was still nothing more than a stranger to him, to open his mouth.

There was a long, silent pause, during which the only sound to be heard was the dull humming of passing spacecraft outside. Suddenly, the silence was broken when the Emperor softly uttered, "You're shorter than I expected," and nothing more.

Another pause followed. Peter cocked his head like a confused pet dog. "Is that _all_ you have to say to me, after _all_ this time?"

The Emperor sat motionlessly for a moment, staring deep into Peter's eyes, studying him. "Far from it," he replied, "son."

Peter glared at the Emperor, eyes narrowed. "So, _that's_ what we're saying? That you _are_ … my father?" he asked, the mere words causing him to grimace.

"Peter," the Emperor began, "you were born thirty-four years ago, on Earth, to a human mother, and a father who left your home planet shortly before your birth. Not only that, but your ability to wield and manipulate an Infinity Stone, a fatal act to the _average_ life form, would suggest that you have the blood of Spartoi Royalty pumping through your veins." He paused, offering a grin and a furrowed brow. "What more evidence do you need?"

Peter crossed his arms, patience wearing thin. "If that's true," he began, "then you have a lot of explaining to do."

"All in good time, my son," his father promised. "But do not forget that you were brought here for a reason," he reminded Peter, before gesturing towards the empty ceramic chair. "Sit," he offered with an unsettlingly warm smile.

Peter slid into the chair, arms still folded in distrusting fashion. " _What_ reason?"

This seemed to entertain the Emperor, who chuckled in response. "Well, well, well, aren't you eager to get _straight_ to business?" he asked rhetorically. "You speak of how long a wait it's been, and yet your attitude would suggest that you already wish to leave?"

"I think that's the standard response from someone who was just _kidnapped_ ," Peter snapped. "Your lackey Bug snatched me away from my friends to drag me to this dump, so forgive me if I don't make myself at home!"

The Emperor shook his head, gritting his teeth, as though this newfound knowledge had angered him. "The smuggler should not have taken you against your will," he replied. "Coming here was supposed to be _your_ decision. After all, how can I expect you to lead this planet and its people to salvation when I have to _force_ you into fulfilling your own destiny?"

Peter stuttered, words failing him. "…My destiny?" he asked, his anger fading.

"Spartax needs a ruler," the Emperor replied intently. "You were _born_ to rule, Peter, just like your father, J-Son, and _my_ father, Eson, and _his_ father, and _his_ father, and _his_ father before him. This family has ruled Spartax for the last millennia. Soon, my time on the throne will be over, and it'll be up to you to take my place… as Emperor of Spartax."

For the first time since his arrival on Spartax, Peter was speechless.

"I know it may be a lot to take in, and I know you've only set foot on Spartax for a matter of minutes, but I hope you'll consider this next offer all the same," he began, his words riddled with ambiguity. "Peter, I want you to rule at my side, to learn the ways the Spartoi Empire; its people, its culture, its history. I want you to see for yourself how a _strong_ ruler leads his people so that, when the time comes, _you_ can carry on my legacy."

Peter rubbed the tired out of his eyes; this long day was proving to be the longest of his entire life. "But, why _me_?" he asked. "Why would you want _me_ , an outlaw – a _legendary_ outlaw, I'll give you that – to rule Spartax? Your _true_ protégé is out there getting her hands dirty, when _really_ she should be stood where I'm standing right now! "

"You mean Captain Victoria?" Emperor J-Son snorted in ridicule. "Never in the millennia of its existence has the Spartoi Empire been led by a female. Victoria _knows_ that; she's always known that. That's why she chose to lead the Royal Guard instead. She's soldier, not a leader."

"And I'm neither," Peter implored.

Emperor J-Son leaned across his desk, his intensity growing. "These are dark times for Spartax, my son. Between the drought, the famine, the riots and the Nova Corps' impending invasion, the planet has never seen darker. But, I believe that, with the weapon that you've provided for us, this Hadron Enforcer, I believe that I can free the people of Spartax from the oppression of the Nova Corps, and quite possibly save this great Empire," he told Peter. "And I want you by my side every step of the way."

Peter bowed his head, failing to look his father in the eye when he said, "I can't be a part of it."

Emperor J-Son leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I must admit," he began, "I did not foresee this. I am surprised." There was an awkward pause between the father and son. "But," he perked up, "if that is _truly_ the way you feel," he gestured towards the Tube, "I will not stop you from returning to your friends."

Peter turned to the elevator shaft, then back to his father, a look of surprise on his face. "You're serious?"

"I want you to be here because that's what _you_ want, _I_ will not force you into anything," J-Son assured him. "I want you by my side as my son, _not_ as my prisoner."

Peter gave his father a wary look before leaping out of his chair, turning his back on the Emperor, and heading towards the Tube, where he thumbed the elevator control button.

"Know that if you'll leave, you'll never have your answers," Emperor J-Son called after his son. "Remain here and I'll tell you everything you want to know. _Everything_."

The hum of the elevator faded into his hearing as Peter considered his next course of action. Was he to return to his friends, who may be risking their lives in their search for him? Or was he to remain on Spartax, to learn the truth about his father and his plans for Spartax? After all, he had been wondering all his life about his father's true identity, and here he was faced with the opportunity to learn everything. Not to mention, it may be his only chance at resolving the conflict between the Spartoi Empire and the Nova Corps, possibly saving the lives of all of those men and woman on board the blockade.

Peter continued to consider his choices as the humming grew louder and louder.

At the sound of the ding, Peter had reached his decision.

END OF CHAPTER SEVEN.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this particularly meaty new chapters. Apologies again for the delay, but due to commitments at University, this chapter was particularly tricky to get to work on. Saying that, I'm hoping to return to publishing AT LEAST one chapter per week. Plus, I've attached some questions and answers below. Let's do this!**

 **Q: Were Richard and Peter given similar backstories in this story deliberately?**

 **A: YES. In this story, a number of changes have been made to Richard, including the fact that, in _Rise of the Spartoi_ , Richard, like Peter, was born in Missouri. Despite an age difference, the two characters share a number of similarities, including having grown up without a father; one who not only left Missouri, but left Earth. This is an important plot point that will bear weight in the future, but there's more purpose behind the the character's similarities than that. I see Richard and Peter as binary opposites. Whilst Peter lives a life outside the law, believing the system to be corrupt and broken, and finding family in other criminals and outcasts, Richard chooses to believe in the system. After all, Richard was chosen by the Nova Corps at a young age, so it's a system he's had no reason not to put his faith in. However, whether or not that faith has been misplaced is something we'll have to wait and find out.**

 **The next chapter will see the rest of the Guardians return to Xandar, as their quest to rescue Peter continues. And after that... Well, you'll just have to wait and see.**


	8. Chapter 8: Return to Xandar

Chapter Eight: Return to Xandar

His gloved hand clutching the blaster at his waist, Denarian Rhomann Dey never took his eyes off the giant, green figure descending the ramp of the M-Ship, the one they called 'The Destroyer', who was followed by the Zehoberei assassin, Gamora, and the talking raccoon known as 'Rocket', who carried his companion, the Flora colossus wounded in action, in a plant pot which he gripped with his disconcertingly human hands.

The group of outlaws, known to the citizens of Xandar as the 'Guardians of the Galaxy', a title they'd earned after their heroic actions during the recent Battle there on Xandar, descended the ramp and approached Denarian Dey, who waited patiently at the edge of the landing platform, Denarian Ko-Rel at his side. Glancing over at the Kree, Dey noticed her standing on the tips of her toes, no doubt hoping that she'd spot Centurion Rider somewhere among the approaching group.

As expected, Centurion Rider made his appearance when he emerged from the cargo hold and descended the ramp, falling in behind the rest of the Guardians. Spotting Ko-Rel, Rider gave the Kree a reassuring smile, as well as a flirtatious wink, clearly unaware that Denarian Dey was watching.

Centurion Rider shuffled past the Guardians, making his way to the front of the group. He approached Dey, stretching out with his hand as he did so.

Dey clasped and shook Rider's hand, offering the Centurion a friendly smile as he did so. "Richard," he said warmly, "Glad you could make it." He released Rider's hand, returning his grip to the blaster at his waist. "I trust you had a pleasant journey," he assumed sarcastically, turning his attention to the Guardians, a wry expression on his face.

"As far as kidnappings go… I've had worse," Richard applied dryly.

"Hey, _you_ 're the one who assaulted _us_ , shell-head," the raccoon disputed. "Let's not forget that."

"Fair enough, Danger Mouse," Rider replied mockingly, turning his attention to Denarian Ko-Rel. "What's the situation?" he asked sternly.

"The Nova Prime is most displeased," Denarian Ko-Rel announced before turning on her heel and leading the group off of the landing platform and through the stainless steel doors of the rear entrance to the Nova Headquarters, which slid open upon their approach. "Now that the Spartoi Empire have their hands on the Hadron Enforcer, she fears that there's almost nothing stopping them from engaging the blockade. Once they're able to wield the power of the Hadron Enforcer on a larger scale, they'll be able to wipe those warships, and the corpsmen on board, off the face of the galaxy."

Rider shook his head. "The Empire would _never_ risk going to war with the Nova Corps," he dismissed.

"Not _before_ ," Ko-Rel agreed, "but _now_ we fear that the Empire have formed an alliance with a third party; someone willing to help them in their quest to destroy the Nova Corps."

" _What_ third party?" Rider asked.

"We're not sure," Denarian Dey answered, "But whoever they are, they _too_ have their reasons for wanting to see the Nova Corps wiped out."

"Oh," Rider scoffed, "Well that only limits our options to… Let me see; the whole galaxy!" He shook his head angrily. "There isn't a single race in this godforsaken galaxy that wouldn't somehow benefit from having the Nova Corps be extinct."

"That's _not_ going to happen," a voice assured them from behind. They stopped in their tracks, turning to face Gamora, who stood proudly at the head of the rest of the Guardians. "The Nova Corps are the _only_ peacekeeping force in the galaxy. We _can't_ sit back and watch them be destroyed."

"What about you? You 'Guardians of the Galaxy'?" Denarian Dey asked. "According to the people of Xandar, you're _the_ peacekeeping force, never mind the Nova Corps."

"Right now, we're a little too busy trying to rescue our leader from certain death to attend to the matter of keeping the peace," Drax answered.

Denarian Dey wore a look of confusion. "What do you mean you're trying to rescue-" Suddenly, a startling realisation settled upon him. He looked around him confusedly. "Wait a minute," he said, "Where's Quill?"

* * *

The Strategy Centre, located in the main command centre on the second floor of the Nova Headquarters, had always reminded Richard Rider of the War Room from _Dr. Strangelove_ , the politicians and generals replaced by Nova Denarians, Centurions and the Nova Prime herself, whose shrill voice pierced through the thoughts of every man stood in that room.

"Even if _one_ of our warships were somehow able to land on Spartax without being torn apart by the Hadron Enforcer, they'd be met by the Emperor's Royal Guard outmanned _and_ outgunned," she observed, pointing at the holographic display of Spartax and the Nova Corps blockade being projected on the surface in front of her.

"Then we send reinforcements to back them up," one of the Denarians stood forward to suggest.

The Nova Prime scoffed. "And leave Xandar unprotected?" she barked back at the Denarian. "We've already established that – somehow – the Empire have acquired allies, and _now_ you would suggest that we roll out a red carpet to these allies by leaving our homeworld defenceless and exposed?"

The Denarian bowed his head in shame. "Negative, Nova Prime," he apologised meekly, stepping back into the crowd. "My apologies."

"Surely the only option left is to _invade_ ," Denarian Ko-Rel suggested. "The Spartoi Empire have – according to our intel – _only_ just acquired this Hadron Enforcer, which will take time to turn into a weapon capable of destroying that blockade," she continued to observe, pointing at the pale blue hologram of the blockade. "We have a small window of opportunity whilst the Empire build their defences and prepare to attack. Let's not waste it."

"We cannot risk an invasion," the Nova Prime replied, dismissing Ko-Rel's suggestion outright.

Whilst Ko-Rel had shuffled her way to the front of the crowd circling the holographic displays, Rider remained comfortably at the back, where he stood between Denarian Rhomann Dey - who seemed disinterested in the whole affair as he gazed out the nearest window at the beautiful view of the Xandarian capital at dawn, most likely thinking about his wife and daughter – and the Guardians, who peered over the shoulders of the other crowd members , with Rocket going so far as to climb onto Drax's back - an arrangement the green giant seemed far from pleased with by the irked look on his face – to catch a glimpse of the Nova Prime and the holographic display before her.

Rider felt a sharp elbow nudge into his abdomen. He turned to see Gamora leaning towards him. "Why is your boss so intent on avoiding an invasion?" she whispered.

"Hey, she's _not_ my boss, alright?" he snapped. "I'm a Nova Centurion. If anything, _I'm_ the boss to most of the people in this room."

"Does she give you orders?" Gamora asked him smugly.

"Sure, but I give orders too-"

"Then she's your boss."

"Whatever," Rider answered sorely. "Look, I don't know why the Nova Prime wants to avoid an invasion. Probably because she wants to avoid another war, which I can _hardly_ blame her for," he explained, his thoughts with all of the men and woman who had perished during the Battle of Xandar. "But, by the way things are looking, war seems pretty unavoidable."

"Rumour has it there's something on Xandar," another voice whispered, apparently having overheard their conversation. Richard turned to see Denarian Dey at his side. "Something the Nova Prime wants bad, that she doesn't want to risk losing in an invasion," he continued to explain.

There was a long, intense pause, through the course of which Richard's jaw remained hung open. "Well?" he asked Dey. "Are you going to leave us in eternal suspense or tell us what this _thing_ is?"

Denarian Dey gave Richard a smug look. "That's classified," he replied, winking at Richard.

" _Classified_!?" Richard echoed. "But I'm a Centurion," he reminded Dey. "I _outrank_ you!"

"Not today," he explained to Richard. "The Nova Prime handpicked the corpsmen she chose to keep in the loop about this secret mission, and you weren't once of them." He patted Richard on the back. "Sorry, kiddo," he said sincerely, before redirecting his attention to the Nova Prime, who had continued with her discussion the whole time.

"Who's the boss now, shell-head?" Rocket mocked as he chuckled from atop Drax's shoulders.

"Would someone please remove this pest from my shoulders?" the green giant requested.

"I don't believe it," said Richard, who was aghast. "What could she be hiding from me?" he wondered as he returned his gaze to Irani Rael, the Nova Prime he'd dedicated so many years of his life to serving.

* * *

As the crowd began to disperse, Gamora followed the lead of Richard Rider as he shovelled his way past corpsman after corpsman until he reached the Nova Prime, who met the Centurion with a dead-eyed, cold-faced stare.

"Yes?" she asked, her voice expressing little in the way of emotion.

"Excuse me, Nova Prime," Richard began, "My names Richard Rider, Nova Centurion 11249-44396."

"Rider?" she echoed. "Yes, I remember you. You're the one who suffered that nasty little incident on Drelys last year, aren't you?" She offered Richard her complete attention. "What can I do for you?"

"Forgive me, but it sounded to me like you have no plans to move on Spartax, _despite_ these new reports that suggest they may be planning a full-scale invasion of Xandar?"

" _That_ is but a rumour, Rider, of which there have been many spreading throughout this building as of late. But it _is_ true that I refuse to risk the lives of my soldiers by launching an invasion of Spartax, _especially_ now that the Empire are armed with such heavy-duty firepower."

"No," Richard replied. "That's _not_ it. There's something else; something you're not telling us."

"Be careful, Rider," she warned him, a commanding look spread across her tired, wrinkled face. "You may be a Centurion but that does _not_ give you the authority to question mine."

Gamora noticed Richard gulp, as though he'd only just come to realise how out of line he was.

"Let me lead a team, just a small team of eight or nine Centurions. All we'd need is for you to beam us down onto the planet's surface, and if we're not detected, we can infiltrate the Royal Palace and retrieve the weapon," Richard suggested.

"And if you _are_ detected it'd be the start of the next galactic war," she assured him. "The only way we set foot on Spartax is with an invitation from the Emperor. Once he's agreed to our terms – and if he has any sense, he _will_ – then this crisis will be over."

There was a pause, during which Gamora glanced from Rider, who was looking down at his feet, to the Nova Prime, who glared at Rider, eyes bulging with authority.

"So, what happens when the Spartoi Empire come knocking on our door, along with _whoever_ else they've brainwashed into their services, demanding that we submit ourselves to them, like they did to us? What happens then?" he asked.

"Then, we do what we've done for the last Millennia," she answered. "We fight." There was a pause, during which the Nova Prime leaned close to Richard. "But I'd much rather – however unlikely it may be – that this crisis be resolved without a single drop of blood. Is that so much to ask?"

The Nova Prime turned on her heel and strode across the Strategy Room, the sound of her heels on the marble floor echoing down the hall, leaving only Richard Rider, along with the Guardians at his side.

Gamora approached him. "What do we do now?" she asked him.

Richard glanced at her, stone-faced. "What do you think?" he asked, for Gamora to only shrug in response. "We're going to get your friend back."

"But, the Nova Prime said-"

"Forget what she said," he answered, cutting off Gamora. "If we have to do this alone, we do it alone, but know that a single mistake on our part could lead to the most devastating war this galaxy will have witnessed in decades."

"No pressure, then," Rocket added sarcastically from his seat on Drax's shoulders, the green giant's anger having reached a boiling point.

It was at that moment that Richard was reminded of a similar crisis that had occurred on Earth back in 1962; a crisis his parents had lived through. Despite it having the entire planet Earth on the brink of nuclear devastation, all for the sake of a disagreement between two countries, in the end, not a single drop of bled had been shed.

Richard could only hope that _this_ crisis would end so smoothly.

Somehow, he doubted that very much.

* * *

On the third floor of the Nova Headquarters, Ko-Rel was marching down the long hallway bridging the gap between the Science Labs and the Mess Hall, when she heard a pair of footsteps fast-approaching behind her.

The Kree turned on her heels to find Richard Rider pacing towards her, an anxious look about him. "Centurion Rider," she said firmly. "Don't you and the rest of Spec-Ops have a briefing to attend?"

"I do," he replied, "but I guess I felt like playing hooky." Rider smiled playfully, his free-spirited attitude and general disregard for the codes of the Nova Corps concerning Ko-Rel.

"How in the name of Galactus did you _ever_ make it to the rank of Centurion?" she scoffed. "What do you want, Richard?" she asked, hoping to skip past any of his attempts at flirting with her.

"The truth," he answered, his playful attitude vanishing. "The Nova Prime claims that she refuses to risk an invasion because of the amount of casualties she fears it'll lead to, but I'm not so sure that _that's_ the real reason," he explained, eyes squinting in suspicion, his gaze fixated on Ko-Rel,.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ko-Rel answered before drawing her gaze from Rider and continuing down the hallway, only for Rider to tail her.

"I'm not sure which is worse," he said, pacing at Ko-Rel side. "That fact that the Nova Prime is lying to me," he continued, grabbing Ko-Rel's shoulder and stopping her in her tracks, forcing her to face him, "or that _you_ are too."

"Richard, please-"

"I know that the Nova Prime has assembled a team for some kind of secret mission," he assured her. "I want to know why," he demanded.

Ko-Rel's gaze fell to the floor. "That's classified," she told Rider, refusing to look him in the eye.

Rider sighed, a look of disappointment spread across his face. "I see," he uttered meekly.

"All I can tell you is that the Nova Prime has a plan," she assured Rider, "A plan to deal with the Emperor, and the Empire, once and for all."

"Haven't you been paying attention?" he asked Ko-Rel. "The Emperor can't be reasoned with. The guy's a psychopath!"

Ko-Rel stared back at Rider, her eyes filled with regret. "Who said anything about reasoning with him?" she asked.

Rider was stunned. He stepped away, turning his back on Ko-Rel. "You're going to assassinate Emperor J-Son," he observed.

"It's the only way," Ko-Rel assured him.

"You'll start a war," he warned Ko-Rel, turning his attention back to the blue-skinned, fair-haired Kree. "Is that what you want? _Another_ war? Jesus, Ko-Rel, we barely made it out of the last one!"

"You think I don't remember!?" she snapped, so loud she even surprised herself. "Do you know how many of my people died in that war? How many innocent families perished because the Nova Corps couldn't differentiate between Ronan's followers and the rest of the Kree when they dropped their bombs on Hala? You think it doesn't _still_ keep me awake at night?" Her voice broke as Ko-Rel's eyes began to fill with tears. "Well, it _does_ …and that's _exactly_ why I need to do this." She took a moment to wipe her eyes, her stern voice returning. "Killing Emperor J-Son won't _start_ a war, Rider," she claimed, "It'll end one before it even begins."  
Rider shook his head dismissively. "You can't know that for sure."

Ko-Rel backed away. "Someone has to try," she replied before continuing down the hallway, turning her back on Rider for good.

Ko-Rel was right; someone _had_ to try. Little did she realise, however, that Richard Rider was about to take that advice on board himself as he hurried to find Gamora and the rest of the Guardians, ready to put his plan to infiltrate the Spartoi Empire, save the kidnapped human, and recover the Hadron Enforcer, into action.

Richard Rider has always been an idealistic – if not _naïve_ \- human being.

Perhaps _that_ was what made him Centurion material.

END OF CHAPTER EIGHT.

* * *

 **I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, which was much more focused on the Nova Corps and its members than any of the Guardians, as well as introducing new character Denarian Ko-Rel, who some hardcore comic book fans may recognise. We'll be catching up with the Guardians soon as they devise a plan to infiltrate the Empire and rescue Quill, but before that, the next chapter will focus on Emperor J-Son, as he plans his moves against the Nova Corps, as well as revealing the identity of his new allies.**

 **Hope to see you guys then! Thanks, as always, for reading.**


	9. Chapter 9: A Meeting of the Minds

Chapter 9: A Meeting of the Minds

When he awoke, Captain J-Son felt as though he were lying on a cloud, and for a moment, he feared he hadn't survived the crash.

However, when J-Son opened his eyes, and once his blurry vison had refocused, he found himself in a large bedroom with wooden walls, at the centre of which he lay on a soft, warm mattress, the frame of the bed creaking with every move he made.

He sat up quickly, the bed creaking once again. Pulling the bedding aside, young J-Son found himself wearing only his undergarments, which were limited to a pair of microfiber briefs. Across his chest, a bandage had been wrapped all the way around his torso from his chest to his back, covering a deep, sore wound which he could only assume he'd acquired when crash-landing. His bandage was wet with fresh blood, suggesting the wound had reopened whilst J-Son had been fidgeting in his sleep.

His unkempt hair and a five o'clock shadow grown across his jawline also suggested that he'd been here – wherever _here_ was – for a number of days.

Looking out of the wooden room's only window, J-Son was offered an expansive view of the planet's surface. It was a lush, green planet – much like Spartax had been hundreds of years ago – with fields spread out across hundreds of acres, a single sun beaming down above them.

It was at that moment that J-Son heard the creak of wooden door as it slid open to reveal a young, female humanoid stood in the doorway.

The female was beautiful. Her chestnut-coloured hair fell to just below her shoulders. She wore a checked flannel shirt coloured red and white, as well as a pair of denim jeans torn at the knee, suggesting she was not afraid of hard labour.

It was then that young and foolish J-Son noticed the double-barrelled shotgun in the female's hands.

"So," she began, clutching the shotgun tightly. J-Son's translator implant, it appeared, was still in working order. "Here's the deal," she continued, her accent bearing a twang that J-Son couldn't place to any location – or any planet, for that matter – that he recognised. "I've been spending the last six hours pacing up and down my kitchen, trying to decide whether or not to call the police on you." She stared him down with her wide eyes as J-Son sank slowly into the bed, his gaze fixated on the double-barrel aimed directly at him. "Believe it or not, UFOs crash-landing in your back garden isn't exactly _commonplace_ around here." She approached the bed, where J-Son was surprised to see her take a seat on the edge of the wooden bed's frame, still clutching the shotgun in her hand. Were he to charge at her know, he may have been able to disarm her before she could thumb the weapon's trigger. "But I've worked long and hard to make a go of it out here, to have some peace and quiet, and the _last_ thing I want is for the FBI or the CIA or whatever the hell, to come here, cause a whole load of commotion, start tearing apart my property, asking me questions… I've worked too hard, and my _father_ worked too hard, to let that happen to my home, where I hope to start a family one day." Her grip became ever tighter on the shotgun. "But, mister, when I dragged you out of that… _spaceship_ of yours, the first thing you did was point a gun at my head, so I have to ask you now…" She lifted her shotgun, aiming it directly at J-Son's head, squinting her left eye as she took aim. From where she sat, there's no way she could possibly have missed if she thumbed that trigger. "…Can I trust you?"

J-Son took a deep breath, breathing out through his nose, before nodding in response. "I'm sorry for inconveniencing you," he apologised sincerely.

The female's stern expression shattered as she began to grin. "I wouldn't exactly call crash-landing in my backyard _inconveniencing_ me," she replied sarcastically.

J-Son wore a look of confusion. He ignored the female's quip. "I'm also sorry for treating you with such hostility initially. You did me a great service by pulling me from that burning wreck, and your kindness is much appreciated." He paused to smile at the female. "I can only hope that, one day, I will be able to return it."

The female shook her head and sighed. "Honestly, the best thing you could possibly do for me right now would be to get back in your ship and get off my land, but something tells me that that's not going to be quite so simple."

J-Son rubbed his aching forehead, his tiredness hitting him like a ton of bricks. "From what I can remember of the crash, my ship was severely damaged."

"You can say that again," the female replied with a chuckle. "So, what, are you Air Force? Spec-Ops? Black Ops? 'Cause I ain't never seen an aircraft like _that_ before."

Suddenly, an idea struck him, and his eyes widened. "Tell me, where _exactly_ am I?"

The female wore a puzzled - if not deeply troubled - expression on her face. "Jefferson City… _Missouri_ ," she answered, feeling as though she was stating the obvious. However, when she noticed J-Son's blank expression, she became even more concerned. " _Earth_."

J-Son sighed. "Damn" he cursed "I'm in uncharted territory, way off the Empire's scanners," he uttered under his breath. Noticing the female's puzzled expression, he said, "I was going to light a rescue beacon, but I'm too far in the Outer Rim territories. The Spartoi Empire would never track me down."

" _The Spartoi Empire_?" she echoed in question. "What are you talking about, mister? Who _are_ you? Where are you _from_?"

There was a pause. "Not around here," J-Son answered vaguely, which unnerved the female.

The terran cocked her shotgun, sitting up and circling the bed until she was stood directly in front of J-Son, where she aimed the shotgun inches from his head. "Don't play games with me!" she barked.

J-Son raised his hands in surrender. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he cried passively. "Please, terran, lower your weapon! My names is Captain J-Son…of Spartax!" There was a silent pause. "My father is Emperor Eson…?" More silence followed. "…Of the legendary Spartoi Empire!?" Even _more_ silence followed before J-Son sighed and shook his head. "Forget it," he urged.

" _Terran_?" she repeated. A disturbed look began to spread across her freckled face. "You… You're really _not_ from here, are you? From Earth, I mean?"

J-Son shook his head.

The terran lowered her shotgun and paced across the room, running her hands through her hair in a stressed motion. "So, I should expect the men in black suits to kick down my door and drag you over to Area 51 any minute now, right?" she asked. "We're basically like sitting ducks, until then?"

" _Sitting ducks_?" J-Son echoed in confusion, eyebrow cocked. "I do not understand."

The terran sighed. "Never mind," she replied as J-Son, now sat on the edge of the bed, began to rise to his feet, groaning as he moved. "Are you alright?"

J-Son clenched his teeth and nodded as the pain in his abdomen seared. He feared he'd punctured his third kidney. "I'll be fine," he assured her. "Thank you for patching me up."

The terran dismissed the gesture. "Like I said, I didn't want anybody here," she replied. "Speaking of which, do you think you'd be able to fix that ship of yours? I have some tools you could use if you-"

J-Son chuckled. "You're a funny terran," he said. "I have my _own_ tools, thank you," he explained. "But fixing my ship, it may take some time, he admitted, gazing at the beautiful terran.

There was a pause. The terran looked at her feet. "As long as you're off my land once that ship's fixed-"

"What I'm saying is, the ones that shot me down, they are _enemies_. Enemies who will come _looking_ for me and - once they've realised that I'm still alive - will try to finish the job, eliminating _anyone_ who gets in their way," J-Son explained.

"If you're asking me whether or not I'd be willing to stick my neck out for you, then the answer's 'no'," the terran assured him.

J-Son bowed his head. "I could never ask anything like that from you-"

"I'm not finished," the terran interrupted. "I may not be willing to take a bullet for you," she continued, "but _anyone_ who thinks that they can trespass on _my_ land and damage _my_ property and hurt _my_ guest without _my_ permission...", she clutched her shotgun, "…is as good as dead."

It was at that moment that Captain J-Son of Spartax realised he was in love.

* * *

He was awoken by the shrill ding of an elevator.

As Emperor J-Son rubbed the sleep out of his tired, dark-circled eyes, he heard the clanking of armour, and raised his gaze from his desk and to the elevator doors, out of which marched General Velorum, clad in golden armour, a red cape dangling from his shoulders, and a pair of piercing red eyes visible through the slit in his helm.

"Emperor," the general stated from the furthest corner of the Emperor's Quarters.

"Come forth," J-Son ushered from his seat at his desk, waving General Velorum forward. Although he was now awake, his mind still pondered the dream he'd just awoken from, and how it had resembled a memory more than anything else; a memory long forgotten.

J-Son met the general's gaze, abandoning his previous thoughts. "What news, General?" he asked.

"Sir," the general began in a grave tone, "Your guest has arrived."

J-Son gulped. "I see," he replied calmly, masking his unease. J-Son rose from his seat, tidying his collar as he did so. "Tell him I'll be along shortly," he ordered.

"With all due respect," General Velorum uttered, "I wouldn't consider it wise to keep _this_ guest waiting. He is not renowned for his patience."

J-Son paused before turning to face Velorum. He strode towards the general, until there was only inches between them. " _With all due respect_ ," he echoed in a mocking tone, staring down at the general, eyes bulging, and a vein throbbing across his forehead, reaching bursting point, "It is _I_ who decides whether or not my guest is kept waiting." He clasped the general's shoulder, smiling sadistically. "Of course, if you're so full of ideas as to how to welcome our guest, perhaps _you_ can deal with him instead?"

He watched as General Velorum quivered beneath his armour. "No," he responded, "thank you, Emperor J-Son. I will not speak out of turn again. I promise." The general fell silent.

"I hope not, General, for your sake," J-Son replied cruelly. "Otherwise, you may end up like your predecessor General Praxidike." There was a pause, during which J-Son refused to tear his gaze from the shaken general. "I may be able to pardon another interruption such as this, but you will not find our guest to be as forgiving as I am."

"I understand, sir," Velorum replied softly as J-Son swept past him and through the elevator doors.

The doors slid closed behind him.

The elevator began to descend.

* * *

From his seat at the far end of the oak table, Emperor J-Son poured himself a glass of Krylorian wine.

The sound of wine pouring was the only disturbance to the silence filling the hall, which was lit by a single chandelier hanging above them, and whose only decorations were a number of tapestries lining the walls, and a single bronze bust of Emperor Eson, J-Son's father, which stood proudly, adjacent to the table at which he and his guest sat at opposite ends.

J-Son supped his wine gradually until the glass was empty. The Emperor hoped that the crisis with the blockade would be resolved as soon as possible so that, if nothing else, he would be able to get his hands on another shipment of the beautiful foreign wine.

Across the table, his guest sat, brooding in the shadows. "It appears to me that you are far from being in a position to be planning an invasion of Xandar," he replied in a raspy voice, having just heard out Emperor J-Son's plot to invade the home planet of his enemies, the Nova Corps.

"You underestimate the power of the Hadron Enforcer," J-Son assured his guest, an eyebrow cocked. "Our scholars believe that this weapon we recently acquired is capable of obliterating the entire blockade. It appears that not only are the Nova Corps unwilling to risk an invasion of Spartax, but they also refuse to remove their ships from our atmosphere, making them – for now – sitting ducks."

His guest wore a confused expression as he leaned slowly from out of the shadows, his chiselled jawline emerging into the light, eyes remaining submerged in shadow.

"It's… something I heard a terran say once," J-Son explained.

"I see," his guest replied in a grave tone, his voice so powerful its force was felt by J-Son all the way from the other side of the table. "Even if you _do_ somehow manage to free your planet of that wretched blockade, how do you intend to successfully conquer a whole planet? No less, one that happens to be home to the most powerful peacekeeping force in the galaxy?"

"With the help of your armies, of course," J-Son answered, a bold smirk spread across his face.

J-Son watched a scowl grow across his guest's face, his giant hands curling into fists of rage. "You _dare_ to presume that I would serve under a _scoundrel_ such as you?"

"Not without some kind of reward," J-Son answered, "No." From his pocket, J-Son drew a small holopad, which he slid across the table, coming to a halt midway between the two, where the holopad began to project the image of a small, circular artifact. An orb, coated in a metallic casing, small enough for J-Son to hold in the palm of his hand.

Despite its size and simplicity, however, the mere sight of the orb made J-Son's guest lean forward.

"How do you know about this?" the guest demanded to know, gazing at the holographic display.

J-Son smirked, aware that he now had his guest exactly where he wanted him. "Another… _guest_ of mine… A terran. He fought in the Battle of Xandar, and he knows exactly where the orb is now."

The guest averted his gaze from the display and to J-Son. He rose to his feet and leaned forward, emerging from the shadows entirely, revealing himself as tall enough to tower over J-Son. He stared wide eyed at the Emperor, giant purple hands clutching the edges of the table. " _Where_?" he demanded in a haunting, hoarse voice; one that suggested that his patience was wearing thin.

Emperor J-Son's smirk grew. "On Xandar," he answered vaguely. "Somewhere," he added. He began to pour himself another glass of delicious Krylorian wine. "Give me soldiers. Give me firepower. Fight alongside my men as we march against the Nova Corps, and I will give you the orb."

His guest's scarred chin quivered as the rage grew inside him until, finally, it reached its boiling point.

The giant threw the table across the hall with little effort, sending J-Son's glass and wine bottle to shatter against the marble floor, with the oak table collapsing as it crashed against the bronze bust of Emperor Eson, which stood unmoved.

J-Son sat motionless as his guest marched towards him with furious strides. Seconds later, he was feeling his cold, purple hands around his neck, winding him, and was being lifted metres into the air.

J-Son's guest gazed furiously at him at his grip tightened around his neck. "YOU PATHETIC LITTLE MAN! I AM THANOS! I WILL NOT BE BOUGHT!" he spat.

J-Son heard footsteps on marble, the sound rushing towards him, followed by a woman scream, "Let him go!" From out of his peripheral vision, J-Son saw his daughter emerge, a blaster aimed at Thanos' head, and a frightened look upon her face, as though she were in the presence of a monster.

"I said, let him go!" Captain Victoria repeated. "You are a guest here! This aggression _will_ _not_ stand!"

Thanos exchanged his gaze between Victoria and J-Son. A look of anger spread across his face, he begrudgingly released his grip on J-Son, allowing him to fall to the ground, landing hard against the marble floor, where he lay for as long as it took for the air to return to his lungs.

Thanos returned his gaze to Victoria. Looking down at her from his towering height, he was able to convince her to lower her blaster with but a squint of his eyes.

"Tell me," he began, directing his gaze back to J-Son, who sat rubbing his bruised neck, "Do you truly know where the orb is being held? Or is this yet another one of your lies?"

"It's true," J-Son assured him, his ability to breathe normally having returned.

" _Why_ should I believe you?" Thanos tested, his golden armour shimmering in the light.

"Can you afford not to?" J-Son wondered, trying Thanos' patience even further. "I know the orb holds a power stone inside it, and I know _why_ you are after such an artifact," he assured Thanos. 'Or should I say, such _artifacts_."

Thanos scowled, which seemed to please J-Son.

"That's right," said J-Son, "I know all about your quest for the Infinity Stones. The Power Stone, it would appear, has evaded you more than any other, but now I'm offering you a way of recovering it for good, and I promise you, there will be no shortage of death and bloodshed along the way."

It was then that a smile began to grown upon the face of the Mad Titan.

* * *

"You should not have intervened," J-Son scolded his daughter as he tidied his collar, "I had our guest exactly where I wanted him."

"Really?" Captain Victoria asked, marching alongside her father down the long hallway towards the Science Labs. "Because, to me, it looked like you were seconds away from having your neck snapped by Thanos."

J-Son sighed. It appeared his tactics had gone over the head of even his own daughter. "I needed him to feel as though he had the upper hand," J-Son explained. "The Mad Titan would _never_ agree to help me if he so much as _suspected_ he were being used."

"He wouldn't just refuse to help you, father," Captain Victoria replied, "He'd _kill_ you."

J-Son's stern expression remained unchanged. "It's a risk the Empire must be willing to take. Destroying Xandar, and wiping out the Nova Corps, will remind the galaxy of our power, and will allow us to retake our place as conquerors of the galaxy."

Captain Victoria offered her father the Emperor a look of horror. "What are you talking about?"

J-Son paused, clutching Victoria's shoulder and spinning her towards him. He leaned in close to his daughter. "Xandar is just the beginning," he rasped. "With the power of the Universal Church of Truth behind us, and the might of Thanos and his armies at our side, this galaxy doesn't stand a chance, especially when they lose the only peacekeeping force they have," J-Son observed, referring to the Nova Corps, who were living on borrowed time. He smirked.

"What about the Guardians of the Galaxy?" Captain Victoria wondered.

"The Guardians of the-" J-Son stroked his chin until the name came back to him. Upon remembrance, his eyes widened, and the Emperor burst into a fit of chuckles. "What _about_ them?" he asked. "We have their leader, and soon he'll be one of us. The rest of those pirates don't stand a chance." He strode off, shaking his head as he did so.

"I'm sure Ronan thought the same thing," Victoria reminded her father, "Until he was destroyed."

J-Son stopped in his tracks, turned to face Victoria. "And if these Guardians dared to stand against us as they did the Accuser, how – pray tell – do you imagine they'd make it past the blockade?"

Victoria stared deeply into her father's eyes, tensions rising. "Bug," she uttered calmly. "The smuggler left the surface hours ago."

"You fear he might lead the Guardians back to Spartax?"

"It's a possibility," Captain Victoria admitted. "The Guardians are bound to be searching for their leader as we speak, and if they see Bug as their key to reaching him, I can't see that anything would stop them from finding him."

J-Son considered his options, stroking his chin as he did so. "Dispatch a Bounty Hunter to track the Insectoid down _before_ the Guardians do, and have him destroyed."

"And if the Guardians find him first?" Victoria asked.

J-Son fixed his gaze on his daughter, eyes bulging, and the vein on his forehead throbbing to bursting point.

"Then kill them all."

END OF CHAPTER NINE.

* * *

 **Merry Christmas, folks! Apologies for the long, long gap between these last couple of chapters. But, hey, this is one of the longest chapters yet, and I hope you enjoyed it! As always, leave your thoughts in a REVIEW below, and if you haven't already, FOLLOW and FAVOURITE this story for immediate updates.**

 **Have a fantastic Christmas, and see you in 2016 for a new chapter, in which the Guardians will assemble under a new leader.**

 **-George**


	10. Chapter 10: Assemble

Chapter 10: Assemble

Above them, warships soared, crosshatching the blue sky with their vapour trails.

"I am Groot," the tired Flora Colossus complained.

"You said it, Groot, ol' buddy," Rocket agreed, carrying his potted partner in his paws. "Coming here was a _big_ mistake. These fascists will _never_ help us rescue Quill."

Gamora could hear Rocket complaining from her position a few paces behind the rest of the group, where she marched beside Centurion Rider as they crossed the steel suspension bridge that downtown, and towards the station where they'd docked the _Milano_.

"Rocket's right, isn't he?" Gamora asked Rider, concernedly. "If we go after Peter, we do it alone."

Centurion Rider shook his head in denial. "You're not alone," he answered before placing a gloved hand on her shoulder.

Suddenly, a memory struck Gamora. "Back in the Strategy Centre, the Nova Prime talked about something… An incident on Drelys?" Gamora recalled. "Tell me, what had she been referring to?"

Rider removed his hand from her shoulder and sighed, as though he had been asked to return to a dark place. "Fifteen years ago, I was tasked by the Nova Prime with training a new recruit; a terran, like myself. Under my training, he became one of the best pilots the Nova Corps had ever seen, and a cunning warrior too… Not to brag, of course," he said, chuckling. "He was also a good friend," he added. "Eventually, he became so powerful that he had outgrown my training. He was ready to become a Nova Centurion. But the boy wanted more," Rider explained, a solemn look filling his eyes. "His greed and hunger for the power of the Nova Force drove him to betray his comrades and abandon the Nova Corps. My own brother, also a member of the Nova Corps, tried to stop him." Rider paused, bowed his head. "He was murdered by the boy, who had become twisted and evil, corrupted by the Nova Force. He took to calling himself Super-Nova and, after his connection to the Nova Force was severed, he began working on a way to harvest power from Xandar's three Suns, which would gift him with power beyond his wildest dreams."

There was a pause. Gamora allowed Rider a moment to mourn his fallen brother, as well as his confused apprentice. "What happened to him?"

"He became an agent of evil, attacking passing cargo ships for his own selfish needs, pillaging small settlements for entertainment – at least, that's what how the stories go," Rider explained. "A few months after his disappearance, I led a small group of Denarians to Drelys following an anonymous tip that the Super-Nova had been spotted entering an old cryogenics lab located on the surface."

"What was he doing there?" Gamora asked, interrupting Rider's story.

"I'm not sure, but I suspect he was scavenging. He had been working on a device that would allow him to harvest the power of a Sun, without causing himself serious radiation poisoning.

"We found him on Drelys. We weren't prepared for how powerful the Super-Nova had become. He murdered my entire squad, but left me alive… Or – more accurately – in suspended animation," he revealed, leaving Gamora confused. "For almost fifteen years, I was left on Drelys – cryogenically frozen – until an Aaskavarian scavenger happened upon me. By the time I was awake again, I had missed so much; the conquest of Nebula II, the Battle of Xandar… I had even missed the Chitauri invasion of Earth, my home planet!" Rider wore a look of frustration, as though these feelings had remained bottled up, and had only just been allowed to come pouring out. "My own country had been the stage of a mass invasion, and I was stuck in cryosleep, powerless to do anything about it."

Gamora felt awkward, unsure of what to say. "Well, I hear Earth is doing okay," she assured him.

"Yeah," Rider replied with relief. "They've got their own protectors these days. Still, I would have liked to have been there, you know? The Super-Nova robbed me of that opportunity, along with so many others," he explained to Gamora, the regret audible in his voice. "When I returned to Xandar, I was given a hero's welcome by those who'd survived the Battle of Xandar. I was promoted to the rank of Centurion, but I've never felt as though I'd earned it. I let my team die, and I was MIA whilst the rest of my comrades were fighting for their lives against Ronan and his armies."

"It's not your fault," Gamora assured him. "The Super-Nova robbed you of your life. You can't blame yourself for that," she said sincerely, having grown to care for the terran.

"I know," he replied humanely, in the manner of a hurt child. "But in the months since, I _still_ haven't been able to find the Super-Nova. Every minute he's becoming more and more powerful. One day, he'll be powerful enough to destroy entire _planets_. For that, I can only blame myself."

Gamora was befuddled by the terran's impulse to take responsibility, but she also found it respectable, and undeniably charming. "But… _why_?" she asked.

Richard Rider turned to Gamora, smiling to mask his pain. "Because, I _trained_ him."

* * *

"You and bucket-head can go venturing into the heart of darkness if you want, Gamora," Rocket quipped from his seat on the verge of the landing platform, his furry legs dangling over the edge, "Drax too if he _also_ has a death wish," he added, his paws clutching the plant pot holding his friend. "Groot and I, on the other hand… we don't feel like dying just yet."

Gamora marched to Rocket's side, looming over him like a displeased parent. "But Peter's your friend," she reminded Rocket, who diverted his attention towards Xandar's skyline, where the setting suns were a backdrop to the bustling traffic of warships, transports and cruisers.

"And I'm sure you'll do a damn fine job of rescuing him," Rocket assured her as he stood up from the ledge, turning to face Gamora. "Me and Groot, here – we're done getting shot at; we're ready to take some overdue vacation."

Gamora wore a look of disappointment. "And here I thought you actually cared… If it hadn't been for Peter, you'd still be drowning your sorrows in some slum in the middle of Knowhere-"

"IF IT HADN'T BEEN FOR PETER, MY BEST FRIEND WOULD BE MORE THAN JUST A SCORCHED TREE BRANCH IN A PLANT POT!" Rocket interrupted, jabbing a pointy finger in Gamora's face.

Gamora was taken aback. She raised her hands passively, hoping the Raccoon would lower his tone of voice, which had also attracted the attention of Richard and Drax over by the _Milano_.

"It was Quill's stupid idea to take on Ronan and his army, and all he ever does is brag about how it all ended perfectly – WELL, NOT FOR ME!" he snapped. "I almost lost the only _real_ friend I have in the whole galaxy thanks to him!" There was a pause, as Rocket began to cool down. He turned his back on Gamora and planted his furry hide back on the ledge. "I don't owe him a thing."

"He'd do the same for you," Gamora replied softly. "He do the same for all of us… and he doesn't owe _us_ anything either."

As Gamora's footsteps faded behind him, Rocket turned his attention back to Xandar's skyline. He attempted to count the number of ships gliding past several times, but would lose count after the just the first dozen every time. Silently, he damned his short-term memory, and then damned his own maker, whom had cursed Rocket with his short-term memory.

Should he ever have come across his maker, there were many bones that Rocket would have had to pick with them - the small hands, the bushy tail and the colour-blindness being just some of them. Above all, however, Rocket simply wanted to know _why_ he had been made. He was the only one of his kind, which was why - even in a galaxy as gigantic and expansive as the one he'd been born into - he couldn't have felt more alone.

He heard a soft whisper from the plant pot.

"Don't worry, Groot, ol' buddy," Rocket assured his potted friend, "We'll be fine." He held Groot close to him – close enough to whisper, "There's just something I've gotta do."

Rocket gazed beyond Xandar's skyline, his thirst for answers intensifying as the suns set.

"I have to find the ones who created me."

* * *

When the three suns of Xandar finally set beneath the skyline, which was busy with gridlocked traffic, skyscrapers and other eyesores, a cold darkness engulfed the city.

Centurion Rider stood at the foot of the _Milano_ , one hand running through his rugged, brown hair, the other carrying his golden helm – which bore the emblem of a Nova Centurion – a red, four-pointed star - under his arm.

He caught himself daydreaming of Ko-Rel, whom he suspected was already halfway across the galaxy by now as she made her way to the blockade to embark on her secret mission, the thought of which caused Centurion Rider to clench his fists, as the mission had been kept secret from him, despite his high rank and experience.

Suddenly, he realised that he had been staring mindlessly at the green giant that was Drax the Destroyer. The enormous, hulking monster returned his gaze with an intense and furious stare.

Hearing footsteps approach from behind him, Richard peered over his shoulder, where he noticed Gamora approaching, marching in quick strides.

"The gerbil isn't coming with us?" Richard asked as Gamora marched past him, a wounded expression spread across her face. "Who's gonna fly the ship?"

"I'm quite capable, Richard-human," Gamora snapped as she began to climb up the _Milano's_ ramp, before stopping in her tracks, and turning to face Richard. "I'm sorry," she apologised, looking down at Richard from the ramp. She sat herself there and buried her head in her hands, distressed.

Drax approached the two of them, wearing a confused expression. "What is the matter?" he asked, hands on his hips. He gave Richard a cold, distrusting stare. "What did you do, meat-sack?"

" _Me?_ " Richard echoed, bemused. "I didn't do anything! It's that little rodent who's upset her!" he observed, pointing over to the edge of the landing platform, where Rocket remained.

Drax exchanged glances between Rocket, Richard and – finally – Gamora. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"What's _wrong_ is that it's been almost _three_ days, and we're still no closer to finding Quill," Gamora exclaimed. "We're two crew members down, the Nova Corps refuse to help us, and we have _no_ idea where we're going!"

A long, awkward silence followed. "Gamora," Drax began, breaking the silence, "If you take me to Spartax, I will crush the skulls of the fiercest warriors the Spartoi Empire has to offer, if that's what it takes to rescue Quill," he offered, drooling at the thought of so much violence and glory.

"I have no doubt that you'd destroy a _thousand_ armies if it meant saving Peter," Gamora replied, "but there's no way of getting past that blockade without the permission of the Nova Corps."

"Then we crush them too!" Drax suggested, raising a balled fist into the air like that of a gladiator seeking praise from his audience.

"Ahem," Richard coughed, reminding Drax of his presence.

Drax lowered his fist, embarrassed. "Apologies," he uttered meekly.

"The only way you're getting past that blockade is by _sneaking_ through it," Richard observed before turning his attention to the _Milano_ , "and to do that, you're gonna need something a helluva lot more conspicuous than this rust-bucket. Ideally, you're gonna want a ship with a cloaking device."

"Impossible," Drax spat, offering Richard a look of frustration. "No ships in this sector have a cloaking device."

"There's _one_ ," Gamora recalled, "but there's no way-"

A sequence of loud beeps interrupted her words as Richard withdrew a small, circular holopad from his pouch, which he held flat in the palm of his hand. In a flash of blue, the holographic image of Denarian Ko-Rel's head was formed. The beeping ceased. "This is Nova Centurion 11249-44396 – Rider, Richard," he recited, "and what can I do for you, beautiful?" he added with a wide grin.

"How many times do I have to tell you to please put a lid on your interminable attempts at being charming, Rider?" Ko-Rel snapped. "It's never worked before, and it ain't working now."

Her remark wiped that grin right off of Rider's face, which now wore a look of sore embarrassment, which was enough to amuse Gamora, who chuckled. "Uh, sorry," he apologised meekly.

Ko-Rel sighed and shook her head. "I thought you should know, the smuggler you were looking for – the Insectoid called 'Bug' – a team of Corpsmen spotted him on Moord."

"Moord!?" Rider echoed confusedly. "Why would a scumbag like Bug hide out on the wretched hole the Badoon call home?" he questioned.

Ko-Rel shrugged. "Maybe he was looking for someplace he would fit in," she quipped.

Drax laughed heartily. "This one shows wit," he observed, gesturing towards the holographic image of Ko-Rel. "She would make a fine comedian."

"Um, thanks," Ko-Rel replied awkwardly, "but I think I'll stick to the galactic peacekeeping."

"Tell the Corpsmen _not_ to engage," Rider commanded, "We'll rendezvous with them on Moord and track down Bug ourselves."

"And then," Drax began, raising another curled fist into the air, "we will squash him like a… Well, like a bug," he said, his voice trailing off.

A moment of silence followed before Ko-Rel said "And he thinks _I_ should be a comedian."

"Thanks for the update, Ko-Rel," Rider said sincerely. "Have you arrived safely at the blockade yet?"

"We're just a few parsecs out," she answered. "Once we're there, Denarian Dey and I will be getting beamed down to the surface of Spartax to discuss the latest terms with the Emperor."

"I see," Rider responded, now well aware of the Nova Prime's _true_ plans. "Just… be careful," he added. "I mean that."

"Hey," she replied brazenly, "I'm always careful!" She winked playfully.

The holographic image fizzled out and disappeared.

A part of Centurion Rider feared that he would not see Denarian Ko-Rel again.

Gamora rose to her feet assertively, fists curled. "That smuggler is the one who took Peter to Spartax," she observed. "He knows how to get past the blockade. He must have done it _twice_!"

"This Insectoid is our best shot at rescuing Quill," Drax decided. "Wouldn't you agree, meat-sack?"

Richard tucked the holopad away, turned to Drax. "Agreed. He may also be our best shot at saving the Corpsmen aboard that blockade."

Gamora approached Richard. "What are you talking about?" she asked concernedly.

"It won't be long before the Empire have the Hadron Enforcer primed and ready to be used to destroy the blockade," Richard explained. "The thousands of innocent men and women – like Ko-Rel – who are aboard will be killed. If we hurry, we can still save them."

"But I thought Ko-Rel was going to Spartax to _negotiate_ with the Emperor," Gamora reminded him.

"For all the good it will do," Richard remarked. "The Emperor will _never_ submit to the Nova Corps, and even if – by some miracle - he did, the Nova Prime isn't taking any chances."

"What does _that_ mean?" Drax wondered.

Richard sighed, shaking his head, realising he'd already said too much. "The Nova Prime has sent Ko-Rel to Spartax to negotiate with the Emperor, but that's just a cover for her _real_ objective."

Gamora stepped closer to Richard, who had turned his back on her. "Which is?"

Richard peered over his shoulder. "To assassinate the Emperor," he uttered.

"Has she lost her mind!?" Drax pondered aloud.

"Such a drastic move would cause the Empire to retaliate, without a doubt," Gamora knew. "Not only would they destroy the blockade, but they'd annihilate all life on Xandar too. The Empire wouldn't stop until the entire Nova Corps had been wiped out. It'll be all-out-war for years."

"Unless we get to Spartax first," Richard decided. "If we reach the surface, stop the attempt on the Emperor's life, and retrieve the Hadron Enforcer, we might just be able to prevent another galactic war."

"And…" Drax irked, encouraging Richard to continue. "What about Quill?"

Richard stood open-jawed for a moment. "Oh!" he suddenly uttered, remembering suddenly. "Yes, we can rescue your friend too, I suppose."

"So, we're really doing this?" Gamora asked, a grin slowly spreading across her face. "Us and what army?"

"We don't need an army," Richard decided. He lifted his golden helm from under his arm into the air and placed it on his head.

"We're the Guardians of the Galaxy."

END OF CHAPTER TEN.

* * *

 **A late Christmas present for you loyal readers! I hope you enjoyed this new** **instalment, which allows us to begin to explore the backstories of such characters as Richard Rider and Rocket, whose pasts we'll delve deeper into in the future, for sure. As always, please leave your thoughts in a REVIEW below. Let me know your thoughts, not just on this chapter, but on the story so far!**

 **I'm afraid there won't be any new chapters until next year...**

 **...I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. See you in 2016!**

 **-George**


	11. Chapter 11: Father & Son

Chapter Eleven: Father & Son

"It's time," Captain J-Son declared.

"For what?" the terran asked as she sauntered to his side, wooden planks creaking.

"For me to return home," J-Son answered, turning from the edge of the porch to face the terran, bed covers draped around her shoulders, a cup of hot coffee in her hand. Vapour rose from the coffee, suspended in the air of that cold, winter morning.

The terran's face hung low. Her eye's already welling. "When I woke up, you weren't there" she began. "I thought…" She paused, her voice cracking like fragile glass. "I thought you'd left." She wiped a tear from her eye before it had a chance to roll down her cheek. "Every morning for the past week, I've woken up… _terrified_ that you're gone. Terrified that you left without saying goodbye."

Captain J-Son raised a hand to the terran's face, stroking her cheek. "I know," he confessed. "That's why I've been pretending to be fixing my ship for the past seven days," he admitted with a grin. "It's been fixed since last week. I just couldn't bear to tell you."

She giggled softly. "That's sweet," she said, "but you should have just told me the truth." She raised her hand, joining with J-Son's. "Besides, I kind of figure you'd finished fixing up your ship when you stopped coming back from the barn with oil all over your hands," she explained, brow furrowed like a wisecracking detective who'd just solved the case.

"Did I ever tell you that you're too smart for your own good?"

"Multiple times."

Captain J-Son chuckled. He turned to gaze beyond the horizon, as though he could feel his home planet calling out to him. When he returned his gaze to her, his smile had begun to fade. He stared deeply into her eyes. "These last few days have been some of the most precious in my entire lifespan," he confessed, squeezing her hand, "but, as much as it pains me to say it, it is now time for me to return to my home planet."

Her lips began to quiver. She returned J-Son's tight grip. Had she squeezed any harder, J-Son's fingers would have turned a shade of purple. "Can't you just stay a _little_ longer?" she asked.

"We are at war," he reminded her sternly. "My people need me. My _father_ needs me."

"Your father… the Emperor?" she recalled. "Eson?"

"That's right," J-Son confirmed. "He is my father, and _I_ am his son, and to dishonour him by staying here – on Earth – when there is a war to be fought… that would be a crime beyond forgiveness. I would be betraying not only my father, but my whole family… Not to mention, the people of Spartax, of whom – one day – I will be ruler. What kind of a ruler _abandons_ his people in an hour of such need?" he asked rhetorically.

"Not the kind of ruler you plan on being, I'm betting," the terran presumed.

"I'm afraid you're right," J-Son confirmed. "Not to mention, the Badoon – the vile creatures who shot me down – would no doubt come looking for me were I to simply remain here. I _was_ caught carrying out a reconnaissance mission in their capital city, after all." He noticed the terran's puzzled expression. "My father had dispatched me to discover the location of Emperor Droom's palace. We believe his fall will be the key to defeating the Badoon, and putting an end to this long, dreadful war once and for all."

The terran chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Listen to you," she said, grinning childishly. "You talk about alien planets and space battles as if these though these things are second nature to you."

"Well," J-Son began, "I _am_ a captain."

"Blue Blazes… Just shut up and kiss me," the terran ordered.

J-Son leaned into the kiss. He wrapped his arms around the terran, who clutched onto the bed sheets covering her body. He caressed her chapped lips with his own, stroking her hair as he did so.

As quickly and spontaneously as the kiss had begun, it was over. J-Son leaned back, removing his lips from the terran's whose eyes remained closed, as though she was awaiting more.

The terran opened her eyes, and smiled warmly.

"Before you go," she began, "do you want your gun back? I hid it under the kitchen sink."

"Keep it," he told her. "Consider it a parting gift; something to remember me by."

"A space gun. How romantic," she said sarcastically.

'Speaking of gifts," J-Son said as he reached into a pouch in his flight suit. "This is for you."

He withdrew a small necklace, which he handled with upmost delicacy and care. In the pendant, a pink crystal gleamed, catching the sunlight.

"Now, _that_ 's more like it," the terran said, wide-eyed.

Gently, J-Son place the necklace around the terran's neck.

"Do you like it?" he asked her as she gazed into the crystal, smiling. "It belonged to my wife."

This earned a drastic shift in expression from the terran, whose face twisted into a scowl upon hearing J-Son's words. "You're _wife_?" She crossed her arms which, on Earth, is a universal sign to show displeasure.

Apparently, such was not the case on Spartax, as the warning sign went right over his head.

"Yes," Captain J-Son confirmed. "She was very beautiful, and she gave me a daughter who shares her beauty," he explained, smiling warmly, still oblivious to the terran's frustration.

" _A daughter?_ " she echoed, perplexed. "Are you serious right now, J-Son?"

"What?" he wondered, wide-eyed, like a confused puppy. "Oh, don't be like that. My wife was beautiful, but it was a different kind of beauty. Not like you… You're… fetching."

" _Fetching!?I"_ the terran repeated, appalled. "You know what, on second thought, you go on back to Spartax. I'm not stopping you!" she decided, waving her hand dismissively, only _partly_ joking.

"Wait," J-Son called after the terran, clutching her arm before she had a chance to leave his side. "My wife… She died in childbirth." His expression turned cold as J-Son dug up a past that, as joyous as it had been, was too painful to think about. "For the longest time, I never thought I'd find anyone else – in the whole _universe_ – who could so much as compare to her beauty; who I would come to care for as much as I did for her." J-Son raised a hand, caressed the terran's cheek, who was beginning to submit to his charms. "But everything changed the day I crash landed on your ranch."

The terran shook her head dismissively, but she struggled to contain the smile that grew across her face. "Alright, Romeo, you win," she decided. "Now, tell me about this crystal."

"My people spent decades searching for it," J-Son explained. "It is the only one of its kind. There is no other like it. It was mined from beneath the ground of a world in the farthest reaches of space; an empty world, so far away from anything else in the universe that the lights in the sky are not stars, but individual galaxies."

"Blue Blazes!" the terran exclaimed. "Space jewellery… Okay, that _is_ romantic."

J-Son took her hands. "If you ever feel alone, I want you to promise me that you'll look at that crystal and think of me, and remember when I tell you that you are _far_ from alone in this universe."

"I will," she replied. "I promise."

They kissed again. This time, for far longer. There was no telling how long they could have shared the kiss for, but suddenly, the terran pulled back, a look of horror on her face.

"What the matter?" J-Son asked, alarmed all of a sudden. He noticed her cheeks had puffed up like a puffer fish, as though something had filled her mouth. She covered her mouth with one hand, the other hand clutching her belly, which was grumbling and gargling like a drowning man.

It eventually became clear to young J-Son that the terran was about to vomit.

She soared past him, covering her mouth, her stomach's grumbling growing louder. Behind J-Son, the terran clung to the railings of the porch, over which she allowed herself to retch.

She emptied her stomach in one, long retch, the power of which seemed to leave her breathless. She turned to face J-Son, who wore a look of disgust, but also compassion for his lover. She wiped a trail of sick from her bottom lip, still catching her breath.

"Are you okay?" J-Son asked, the question making him feel about as absurd as she _looked_ , wearing nothing but a bed sheet over her shoulders, which had now been decorated with splashes of hot vomit.

The terran stared at J-Son, breathing heavily, open-jawed, as though she was about to vomit all over again.

Her lips quivered as she pursed her lips, struggling to so much as utter the two simple words that were about to follow.

"I'm pregnant," she uttered before another round of retching began, managing to aim over the railing just in the nick of time.

This time, however, it was _J-Son_ who thought he was going to be sick.

* * *

"Did you ever go back?" Peter asked from his seat at the far end of the oak table, his words echoing across the dining hall until they reached his father's ears.

"To Earth? No," Emperor J-Son answered before sipping Krylorian wine from his goblet. He sat no less than twenty feet across from him, at the opposite end of the long, oak table.

Peter sat clothed in much more formal attire than he'd ever been used to. He wore an outfit closely resembling that of his father's: a blood-red robe with a raised collar coloured gold, gold patterns resembling the shape of a flame decorating his cuffs, golden lapels, and a thin gold pattern outlining the entire robe. All that Peter lacked was his father's grey streaks, which he hoped he'd be able to dodge for at least another ten years.

"By the time I'd made it back to Spartax," J-Son continued, "tensions were at an all-time high with the Badoon. Within weeks, a galactic war had broken out. The only times I left Spartax were to fight on the frontlines. Spartax faced some tough times back then. The people experienced famine, droughts – almost as bad as the ones they face now." J-Son took another sip of wine before returning to his meal; F'Saki hide marinated in Aaskavarian wine, with a side of roasted potatoes grown on Spartax. "I had no time to visit old flames," he added as he sliced a potato.

 _"_ _Old flame!?_ " Peter echoed in appalment. " _That's_ how you describe my mother?"

"I had a war to fight, Peter," J-Son explained, his hand on his heart. He was speaking as a war-torn veteran, but also as a father. "Your Mother understood that. Why can't you?"

"Because I never got a say in _any_ of this," Peter argued, his voice having risen. He raised his hand, pointing in accusation at his father. "You were long gone before I was even _born_."

Emperor J-Son leaned back in his chair, surrendering to Peter. "What did you want me to do? Stay on _Earth?_ " he asked in bemusement. "Do you have any idea how much danger I'd have put you and your mother in?" He leaned forward, his facial expressions curtained by shadow. "There was no place on Earth for me," he assured Peter. "Nor for you, it would appear."

"I'm your son. You're my father," Peter reminded J-Son, his gaze fixated on the Emperor. "I shouldn't have had to have been kidnapped to get to meet you."

"Well, you're here now," J-Son replied feebly before sipping more wine. He downed his drink, wiped his mouth. "I found you, brought you home, and here you are. Why isn't that enough for you?"

"Because, I've gone my whole life without even knowing you existed. That this _place_ existed," Peter explained, his voice raging with frustration. He gestured at the enormous room around him, the ceiling rising up a colossal sixty feet. Tapestries decorated the wall around them, shapes and symbols dancing across them depicting battles, coronations and conquests. "If this – _all_ this – really is my birth-right, like you said, why didn't you find me sooner?"

"DON'T YOU THINK I TRIED!?" Emperor J-Son bellowed, the table shaking as he rose to his feet, hands gripping the edges of the table. Even Peter had been taken by surprise, but he refused to avert his gaze form his father, who stared down at him, the regret plain on his face. "I searched the galaxy for you, son. I spent billions of units on bounty hunters and spies trying to track you down." J-Son bowed his head. "In the end, it was down to sheer luck that our paths crossed."

Peter almost felt guilty. He'd had no idea just how passionate J-Son had been in tracking Peter down. "Then I guess my question is: _why_?" he asked innocently. "Why bring me here?"

J-Son sat back down in his seat and poured more wine from a bottle into his empty goblet. "So that we can eat, of course, and get to know each other… properly," he said, lifting his glass to toast Peter.

"No, not to dinner," Peter replied, waving dismissively, "to _Spartax_. If my Mom meant so little to you, why take _me_ here? I'm just your bastard son from terra. What makes _me_ so important?"

J-Son sighed. A quiet pause. He gently pushed his plate aside. "Son…" he began softly, "I'm dying."

Peter was awe-struck. He could have sworn he'd felt his heart sink like a capsizing ship. "What?"

"I'm sick," J-Son replied, a pained expression on his face, as though this news was something he'd have hoped to avoid. "My cells are growing out of control and just won't quit. They're spreading throughout my body tissues, killing me from the inside," he explained, the words oozing out of him like blood out of a gushing wound.

"On Earth, we call that cancer," Peter explained, masking grief with wit. His father had only just come into his life. Now, it seemed he would soon be gone just as spontaneously as he'd arrived.

"Well, the cancer is growing," J-Son explained, putting it bluntly. "My scholars tell me I only have a few months."

Peter was silent. For how long, he couldn't have been sure. "Cancer was what killed Mom too," he finally said, his thoughts recalling the night his Mother passed. "It was… tough," he described, to put it mildly.

The hall fell silent.

Even the rioters outside the palace walls seemed to have ceased their cries and heckles.

Peter noticed his father's eyes widen with grief. "Your mother? She died?" he asked.

Peter was taken aback. He faltered. "I-I'm sorry," he apologised with a stutter. "I thought you knew-"

"I was not aware…" J-Son interrupted, mouth drooping. "I always assumed- When did it happen?"

"When I was eight," Peter answered. "She died the night I left Earth."

"Did it happen… peacefully?"

"She died quickly. Painlessly," Peter answered. Such had been far from the case with his mother, whom had suffered for months before her inevitable loss in her battle against cancer. However, for reasons he couldn't explain, Peter found himself compelled to lie to his father; to make this bad news easier to digest any way he could.

He could not have possibly pinpointed when it had happened, but at some point, J-Son had earned not only a newfound compassion from his son – but respect, too. "In fact," Peter continued, "she used some of her last breaths to talk about you. _That's_ how much you meant to her."

"Really?" J-Son asked, the curiosity audible in his voice. "What did she say?"

"She called you an 'angel'."

J-Son chuckled softly, as though he were falling in love with the female terran all over again. "She always did have a way with words," he said, recalling the weeks he spent with her. "Well, as on Earth, there is no cure here on Spartax for what's killing me. In a few months, Spartax will be without an Emperor." J-Son's gaze rose to Peter, his brow furrowed. "Unless…"

Peter rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Don't think I don't know where you're going with this."

"Spartax needs a ruler," J-Son explained, his tone becoming grave as he leaned forward. "Someone to get them through these dark and troubling times. I think that person might be you, Peter."

"We already talked about this," Peter reminded him, irritated by his father's endless requests. "I'm afraid I'm _still_ going to have to decline your offer," he declined, feigning regret.

"Son, I don't think you realise the gravity of your current situation," J-Son assured him, fists curling in frustration. He'd worked so hard to bring his son home. He couldn't begin to understand why his son was so insistent on returning to his pathetic life as a washed-up smuggler and swashbuckler. "This isn't an offer," he explained, his tone intensifying, "it's a _responsibility_ , one you've been preparing for your whole life… you just don't know it.

"And whose fault is that?" Peter spat back at J-Son, turning the tables on his father. His frustration was growing, and not _only_ because his robes were beginning to itch.

"Peter, none of us ever asked for any of this," J-Son replied softly, beginning to sound almost reasonable. "I was born into royalty, just like you were. I had no interest in inheriting my father's title, but when he was killed during the Battle of Morag, I knew I owed it to my family – and to the people of Spartax – to continue his legacy," he explained, his words – for the first time- seeming heartfelt and genuine to Peter. "We can't choose these responsibilities any more than we can choose our families; we're just born into them. It's a terrible curse, and the burden of ruling an Empire is not an easy one to bear, but it's a call of duty we have to be willing to answer." He paused, only to realise that his son had no interest in the call of duty. Should he have been surprised? He was talking to an outlaw, after all. "It's also what your mother would have wanted, Peter," he added, certain it would do the trick.

The mention of his mother took Peter by surprise. He considered his next movie carefully, stroking his chin as he did so. His father watched him think, appearing not to blink.

What was Peter to do? There was no way in a million lifetimes that he'd ever so much as _consider_ abandoning his friends.

But… it had been _days_ since his abduction, and there were _still_ no signs of the Guardians of the Galaxy.

Perhaps _they_ had already abandoned _him_. They _were_ outlaws after all. Perhaps Peter had expected too much from them. Perhaps they had already high-tailed it halfway across the galaxy by now.

Perhaps he meant nothing to them.

He realised he had made a decision. He looked up at his father. "You're no angel. You're the devil. But, this one time, I might be willing to make a deal with you. But if we do this, we do this my way."

J-Son sneered, victorious at last. "Of course, son," he replied sincerely, masking his relief. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Okay, Dad," Peter replied before rising to his feet. "Firstly, when can I take off these stupid robes?

END OF CHAPTER ELEVEN.

* * *

 **Another week, another new chapter! Being on holiday, I'm able to get these new chapters written and published much sooner than usual - but I'm back to work soon, so don't get too used to it! ;)**

 **I hope you folks enjoyed this chapter. As always, please leave your thoughts in a REVIEW below.**

 **In the next chapter, we'll be catching up with the Guardians as they make their way to Moord! Should have it published by the end of the week.**


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